PS2068 

.A1 

1899a 



*V A 
' * * S a\ 






<\ 



* .. 






o V 



<z 









r.T»- a 






RIP VAN WINKLE 
m ANDI__ 
THE LEGEND OF 
>LEEPY HOLLOW 



D<0d)<!><0<0<D<!><!><t>d><0<|> <!><|> 
RIP VAN WINKLE 

_PAND1 

THE LEGEND OF 
SLEEPY HOLLOW 

BY 

WASHINGTON IRVING 

p up 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION 

TO RIP VAN WINKLE BY If* 

JOSEPH JEFFERSON 

( r 1 1 

Reprint by 

THE CENTURY CO. 

New York 

It 1899 ^ 

>> <f) <f> <|> <|> <f > <|> <f > <|> <|> <|> <f> <f> <f> <#«^ 






Reprinted from the Knickerbocker 
edition of "The Sketch Book," by 
permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons. 






h. it > / 



The DeVinne Press- 



RIP VAN WINKLE 



INTRODUCTION 

Washington Irving's most 
popular story in " The Sketch- 
Book" is "Rip Van Winkle." 
A florid writer, dealing with the 
picturesque scenery of a village 
on the Hudson, or the solemn 
grandeur of the mountains, 
would have ornamented his 
story with extravagant word- 
painting, and such an elabora- 
tion would have destroyed its 
simplicity. The legend is as 
old as the hills and valleys in 
which it is laid, and appears in 
one of the weird tales of the 



Harz Mountains — "Karl the 
Shepherd," I think it is called. 
If I remember rightly, in this 
version the hero wanders into 
the woods in search of a stray- 
lamb. After climbing up the 
rugged rocks that lie at the base 
of the hills, he finds himself" 
surrounded by the spirits of the 
mountains. As they hover 
around him, he falls into a deep 
sleep, from which he does not 
awaken for a hundred years. 

The story is also told in 
both the Chinese and Japanese 
languages, and in each of 
these the shepherd sleeps for a 
century. 

In these, the original stories, 
the central figure is placed in a 
still more desolate attitude than 
Irving' s hero, for Rip when he 



returns is recognized by others 
who knew him in the past ; but 
where the character sleeps one 
hundred years, he returns to a 
strange scene, where not one 
vestige of the olden time remains; 
the village is changed beyond 
recognition ; he wanders about 
in a bewildered state, unknow- 
ing and unknown, as though he 
had been stricken by the hand 
of death and had awakened in 
another world. 

In reading the story it will be 
quite obvious that it is purely a 
narrative, and that, with the 
exception of Rip's attitude in 
the sleep and the awakening, 
there is nothing dramatic in the 
theme ; it was therefore neces- 
sary to take great liberties with 
the tale in order that an effective 



play might be constructed from 
it. The introduction and be- 
trothal of the little children in 
the first act, the expulsion of 
Rip from his home in the second 
act, the monologue of the hero 
in the third act, and the meeting 
of Rip and his daughter in the 
concluding scene, will not be 
found in the story ; and, as a 
play, "Rip Van Winkle" 
would have been exceedingly 
weak without these dramatic 
situations. 

In my "Autobiography" I 
have dealt mainly with the play, 
and the influence that impelled 
me to select it as an important 
addition to my repertoire, and 
possibly it may be of interest to 
quote the following from my 
book : 



But by far the most important altera- 
tion was in the interview with the spirits. 
In the old versions they spoke and sang. 
I remembered that the effect of this 
ghostly dialogue was dreadfully human, so 
I arranged that no voice but Rip's should 
be heard. This is the only act on the 
stage in which but one person speaks, 
while all the others merely gesticulate; I 
was quite sure that the silence of the crew 
would give a lonely and desolate character 
to the scene and add to its supernatural 
weirdness. By this means, too, a strong 
contrast with the single voice of Rip was 
obtained by the deathlike stillness of the 
*' demons " as they glided about the stage 
in solemn silence. It was also necessary 
to hit upon just the best questions that 
could be answered by a nod, and shake of 
the head, and to arrange that at times 
even Rip should propound a query to 
himself and answer it. 

The ingenuity of Washington 
Irving in making Hcndrik Hud- 
son and his crew the goblins of 



the story, and giving our own 
romantic Catskills as the scene 
of the romance, surrounds the 
tale with a local coloring that 
stamps it as an American classic. 
Joseph Jefferson. 



RIP VAN WINKLE 

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIED- 
RICH KNICKERBOCKER 

By Woden, God of Saxons, 

From whence comes Wensday, that is 

Wodensday, 
Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 
Unto thylke day in which I creep into 
My sepulcher — 

Cartwright. 

[The following Tale was found 
among the papers of the late 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old 
gentleman of New York, who was 
very curious in the Dutch history 
of the province, and the manners 
of the descendants from its primi- 



tive settlers. His historical re- 
searches, however, did not lie so 
much among books as among men; 
for the former are lamentably- 
scanty on his favorite topics; 
whereas he found the old bur- 
ghers, and still more their wives, 
rich in that legendary lore so in- 
valuable to true history. When- 
ever, therefore, he happened upon 
a genuine Dutch family, snugly 
shut up in its low-roofed farm- 
house, under a spreading syca- 
more, he looked upon it as a little 
clasped volume of black-letter, and 
studied it with the zeal of a book- 
worm. 

The result of all these re- 
searches was a history of the 
province during the reign of the 
Dutch governors, which he pub- 
lished some years since. There 
have been various opinions as to 
the literary character of his work, 
and, to tell the truth, it is not a 
whit better than it should be. Its 
chief merit is its scrupulous ac- 
curacy, which indeed was a little 
questioned on its first appearance, 



but has since been completely es- 
tablished; and it is now admitted 
into all historical collections as a 
book of unquestionable authority. 
The old gentleman died shortly 
after the publication of his work; 
and now that he is dead and gone, 
it cannot do much harm to his 
memory to say that his time might 
have been much better employed 
in weightier labors. He, however, 
was apt to ride his hobby his own 
way; and though it did now and 
then kick up the dust a little in 
the eyes of his neighbors, and 
grieve the spirit of some friends, 
for whom he felt the truest defer- 
ence and affection, yet his errors 
and follies are remembered " more 
in sorrow than in anger," and it 
begins to be suspected that he 
never intended to offend. But 
however his memory may be ap- 
preciated by critics, it is still held 
dear by many folk whose good 
opinion is well worth having; par- 
ticularly by certain biscuit-makers, 
who have gone so far as to im- 
print his likeness on their New- 



Year cakes; and have thus given 
him a chance for immortality, al- 
most equal to being stamped on a 
Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's 
Farthing.] 



xviii 



RIP VAN WINKLE 



Whoever has made a voy- 
age up the Hudson must re- 
member the Kaatskill moun- 
tains. They are a dismembered 
branch of the great Appala- 
chian family, and are seen 
away to the west of the river, 
swelling up to a noble height, 
and lording it over the sur- 
rounding country. Every 
change of season, every 
change of weather, indeed, 
every hour of the day, pro- 
duces some change in the mag- 
ical hues and shapes of these 



mountains, and they are re- 
garded by all the goodwives, 
far and near, as perfect ba- 
rometers. When the weather 
is fair and settled, they are 
clothed in blue and purple, and 
print their bold outlines on the 
clear evening sky; but some- 
times, when the rest of the 
landscape is cloudless, they will 
gather a hood of gray vapors 
about their summits, which, in 
the last rays of the setting sun, 
will glow and light up like a 
crown of glory. 

At the foot of these fairy 
mountains, the voyager may 
have descried the light smoke 
curling up from a village, 
whose shingle roofs gleam 
among the trees, just where 
the blue tints of the upland 
melt away into the fresh green 
of the nearer landscape. It is 
a little village, of great anti- 
quity, having been founded by 



some of the Dutch colonists in 
the early times of the province, 
just about the beginning of the 
government of the good Peter 
Stuyvesant, (may he rest in 
peace!) and there were some 
of the houses of the original 
settlers standing within a few 
years, built of small yellow 
bricks brought from Holland, 
having latticed windows and 
gable fronts, surmounted with 
weathercocks. 

In that same village, and in 
one of these very houses 
(which, to tell the precise 
truth, was sadly time-worn 
and weather-beaten), there 
lived, many years since, while 
the country was yet a province 
of Great Britain, a simple, 
good-natured fellow, of the 
name of Rip Van Winkle. He 
was a descendant of the Van 
Winkles who figured so gal- 
lantly in the chivalrous days of 



Peter Stuyvesant, and accom- 
panied him to the siege of 
Port Christina. He inherited, 
however, but little of the mar- 
tial character of his ancestors. 
I have observed that he was a 
simple, good-natured man; he 
was, moreover, a kind neigh- 
bor, and an obedient, hen- 
pecked husband. Indeed, to 
the latter circumstance might 
be owing that meekness of 
spirit which gained him such 
universal popularity; for those 
men are most apt to be obse- 
quious and conciliating abroad, 
who are under the discipline of 
shrews at home. Their tem- 
pers, doubtless, are rendered 
pliant and malleable in the fiery 
furnace of domestic tribula- 
tion; and a curtain-lecture is 
worth all the sermons in the 
world for teaching the virtues 
of patience and long-suffering. 
A termagant wife may, there- 



fore, in some respects, be con- 
sidered a tolerable blessing; 
and if so, Rip Van Winkle was 
thrice blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a 
great favorite among all the 
goodwives of the village, who, 
as usual with the amiable sex, 
took his part in all family 
squabbles; and never failed, 
whenever they talked those 
matters over in their evening 
gossipings, to lay all the blame 
on Dame Van Winkle. The 
children of the village, too, 
would shout with joy whenever 
he approached. He assisted 
at their sports, made their play- 
things, taught them to fly kites 
and shoot marbles, and told 
them long stories of ghosts, 
witches, and Indians. When- 
ever he went dodging about the 
village, he was surrounded by 
a troop of them, hanging on his 
skirts, clambering on his back, 



and playing a thousand tricks 
on him with impunity; and 
not a dog would bark at him 
throughout the neighborhood. 
The great error in Rip's 
composition was an insuper- 
able aversion to all kinds of 
profitable labor. It could not 
be from the want of assiduity 
or perseverance; for he would 
sit on a wet rock, with a rod 
as long and heavy as a Tartar's 
lance, and fish all day without 
a murmur, even though he 
should not be encouraged by a 
single nibble. He would carry 
a fowling-piece on his shoulder 
for hours together, trudging 
through woods and swamps, 
and up hill and down dale, to 
shoot a few squirrels or wild 
pigeons. He would never re- 
fuse to assist a neighbor even 
in the roughest toil, and was a 
foremost man at all country 
frolics for husking Indian corn, 



or building stone fences; the 
women of the village, too, used 
to employ him to run their er- 
rands, and to do such little odd 
jobs as their less obliging hus- 
bands would not do for them. 
In a word, Rip was ready to 
attend to anybody's business 
but his own; but as to doing 
family duty, and keeping his 
farm in order, he found it im- 
possible. 

In fact, he declared it was 
of no use to work on his farm; 
it was the most pestilent little 
piece of ground in the whole 
country; everything about it 
went wrong, and would go 
wrong, in spite of him. His 
fences were continually falling 
to pieces; his cow would either 
go astray, or get among the 
cabbages; weeds were sure to 
grow quicker in his fields than 
anywhere else; the rain always 
made a point of setting in just 

7 



as he had some outdoor work 
to do; so that though his pat- 
rimonial estate had dwindled 
away under his management, 
acre by acre, until there was lit- 
tle more left than a mere patch 
of Indian corn and potatoes, yet 
it was the worst-conditioned 
farm in the neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as 
ragged and wild as if they be- 
longed to nobody. His son 
Rip, an urchin begotten in his 
own likeness, promised to in- 
herit the habits, with the old 
clothes, of his father. He was 
generally seen trooping like a 
colt at his mother's heels, 
equipped in a pair of his 
father's cast-off galligaskins, 
which he had much ado to hold 
up with one hand, as a fine 
lady does her train in bad 
weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, 
was one of those happy mor- 



tals, of foolish, well-oiled dis- 
positions, who take the world 
easy, eat white bread or brown, 
whichever can be got with least 
thought or trouble, and would 
rather starve on a penny than 
work for a pound. ■ ' If left to 
himself, he would have whistled 
life away in perfect content- 
ment; but his wife kept con- 
tinually dinning in his ears 
about his idleness, his care- 
lessness, and the ruin he was 
bringing on his family. Morn- 
ing, noon, and night, her tongue 
was incessantly going, and 
everything he said or did was 
sure to produce a torrent of 
household eloquence. Rip had 
but one way of replying to all 
lectures of the kind, and that, 
by frequent use, had grown 
into a habit. He shrugged 
his shoulders, shook his head, 
cast up his eyes, but said no- 
thing? This, however, always 



provoked a fresh volley from 
his wife; so that he was fain to 
draw off his forces, and take 
to the outside of the house— 
the only side which, in truth, 
belongs to a henpecked hus- 
band. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent 
was his dog Wolf, who was as 
much henpecked as his master; 
for Dame Van Winkle re- 
garded them as companions 
in idleness, and even looked 
upon Wolf with an evil eye, as 
the cause of his master's going 
so often astray. True it is, in 
all points of spirit befitting an 
honorable dog, he was as cour- 
ageous an animal as ever 
scoured the woods; but what 
courage can withstand the 
ever-enduring and all-beset- 
ting terrors of a woman's 
tongue? The moment Wolf en- 
tered the house his crest fell, 
his tail drooped to the ground, 



or curled between his legs, he 
sneaked about with a gallows 
air, casting many a sidelong 
glance at Dame Van Winkle, 
and at the least flourish of a 
broomstick or ladle he would 
fly to the door with yelping 
precipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse 
with Rip Van Winkle as years 
of matrimony rolled on; a tart 
temper never mellows with 
age, and a sharp tongue is the 
only edged tool that grows 
keener with constant use. For 
a long while he used to console 
himself, when driven from 
home, by frequenting a kind 
of perpetual club of the sages, 
philosophers, and other idle 
personages of the village, 
which held its sessions on a 
bench before a small inn, desig- 
nated by a rubicund portrait 
of His Majesty George the 
Third. Here they used to sit 



in the shade through a long, 
lazy summer's day, talking list- 
lessly over village gossip, or 
telling endless sleepy stories 
about nothing. But it would 
have been worth any states- 
man's money to have heard the 
profound discussions that 
sometimes took place, when by 
chance an old newspaper fell 
into their hands from some 
passing traveler. How sol- 
emnly they would listen to the 
contents, as drawled out 
by Derrick Van Bummel, 
the schoolmaster, a dapper 
learned little man, who was 
not to be daunted by the most 
gigantic word in the diction- 
ary ; and how sagely they would 
deliberate upon public events 
some months after they had 
taken place. 

The opinions of this junto 
were completely controlled by 
Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch 



of the village, and landlord of 
the inn, at the door of which 
he took his seat from morning 
till night, just moving suffi- 
ciently to avoid the sun and 
keep in the shade of a large 
tree; so that the neighbors 
could tell the hour by his 
movements as accurately as 
by a sun-dial. It is true he 
was rarely heard to speak, but 
smoked his pipe incessantly. 
His adherents, however (for 
every great man has his adher- 
ents), perfectly understood 
him, and knew how to gather 
his opinions. When anything 
that was read or related dis- 
pleased him, he was observed 
to smoke his pipe vehemently, 
and to send forth short, fre- 
quent, and angry puffs; but 
when pleased, he would inhale 
the smoke slowly and tran- 
quilly, and emit it in light and 
placid clouds; and sometimes, 



taking the pipe from his 
mouth, and letting the fra- 
grant vapor curl about his nose, 
would gravely nod his head in 
token of perfect approbation. 

Prom even this stronghold 
the unlucky Rip was at length 
routed by his termagant wife, 
who would suddenly break in 
upon the tranquillity of the as- 
semblage and call the members 
all to naught; nor was that 
august personage, Nicholas 
Vedder himself, sacred from 
the daring tongue of this ter- 
rible virago, who charged him 
outright with encouraging her 
husband in habits of idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced 
almost to despair; and his only 
alternative, to escape from the 
labor of the farm and clamor 
of his wife, was to take gun in 
hand and stroll away into the 
woods. Here he would some- 
times seat himself at the foot 

14 



of a tree, and share the con- 
tents of his wallet with Wolf, 
with whom he sympathized as 
a fellow-sufferer in persecu- 
tion. " Poor Wolf," he would 
say, "thy mistress leads thee 
a dog's life of it, but never 
mind, my lad, whilst I live thou 
shalt never want a friend to 
stand by thee!" Wolf would 
wag his tail, look wistfully in 
his master's face, and if dogs 
can feel pity, I verily believe 
he reciprocated the sentiment 
with all his heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind 
on a fine autumnal day, Rip 
had unconsciously scrambled 
to one of the highest parts of 
the Kaatskill mountains. He 
was after his favorite sport of 
squirrel-shooting, and the still 
solitudes had echoed and re- 
echoed with the reports of his 
gun. Panting and fatigued, 
he threw himself, late in the 

15 



afternoon, on a green knoll, 
covered with mountain herb- 
age, that crowned the brow of 
a precipice. From an opening 
between the trees he could 
overlook all the lower country 
for many a mile of rich wood- 
land. He saw at a distance 
the lordly Hudson, far, far 
below him, moving on its silent 
but majestic course, with the 
reflection of a purple cloud, or 
the sail of a lagging bark, here 
and there sleeping on its glassy 
bosom, and at last losing itself 
in the blue highlands. 

On the other side he looked 
down into a deep mountain 
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, 
the bottom filled with frag- 
ments from the impending 
cliffs, and scarcely lighted by 
the reflected rays of the set- 
ting sun. For some time Rip 
lay musing on this scene; even- 
ing was gradually advancing; 



the mountains began to throw 
their long blue shadows over 
the valleys; he saw that it 
would be dark long before he 
could reach the village, and 
he heaved a heavy sigh when he 
thought of encountering the 
terrors of Dame Van Winkle. 
As he was about to descend, 
he heard a voice from a dis- 
tance, hallooing, "Rip Van 
Winkle, Rip Van Winkle!" 
He looked round, but could 
see nothing but a crow winging 
its solitary flight across the 
mountain. He thought his 
fancy must have deceived him, 
and turned again to descend, 
when he heard the same cry 
ring through the still evening 
air: "Rip Van Winkle! Rip 
Van Winkle!"— at the same 
time Wolf bristled up his back, 
and giving alow growl, skulked 
to his master's side, looking 
fearfully down into the glen. 



Rip now felt a vague appre- 
hension stealing over him; he 
looked anxiously in the same 
direction, and perceived a 
strange figure slowly toiling 
up the rocks, and bending 
under the weight of something 
he carried on his back. He 
was surprised to see any human 
being in this lonely and unfre- 
quented place; but supposing 
it to be some one of the neigh- 
borhood in need of his assis- 
tance, he hastened down to 
yield it. 

On nearer approach he was 
still more surprised at the 
singularity of the stranger's 
appearance. He was a short, 
square-built old fellow, with 
thick bushy hair, and a grizzled 
beard. His dress was of the 
antique Dutch fashion,— a 
cloth jerkin strapped around 
the waist— several pair of 
breeches, the outer one of 



ample volume, decorated with 
rows of buttons down the sides, 
and bunches at the knees. 
He bore on his shoulders a 
stout keg, that seemed full of 
liquor, and made signs for Rip 
to approach and assist him 
with the load. Though rather 
shy and distrustful of this new 
acquaintance, Rip complied 
with his usual alacrity; and 
mutually relieving one an- 
other, they clambered up a 
narrow gully, apparently the 
dry bed of a mountain tor- 
rent. As they ascended, Rip 
every now and then heard long, 
rolling peals, like distant thun- 
der, that seemed to issue out 
of a deep ravine, or rather 
cleft, between lofty rocks, to- 
ward which their rugged path 
conducted. He paused for an 
instant, but supposing it to 
be the muttering of one of 
those transient thunder-show- 



ers which often take place in 
mountain heights, he pro- 
ceeded. Passing through the 
ravine, they came to a hol- 
low, like a small amphitheater, 
surrounded by perpendicular 
precipices, over the brinks of 
which impending trees shot 
their branches, so that you 
only caught glimpses of the 
azure sky and the bright even- 
ing cloud. During the whole 
time Rip and his companion 
had labored on in silence; for 
though the former marveled 
greatly what could be the ob- 
ject of carrying a keg of liquor 
up this wild mountain, yet 
there was something strange 
and incomprehensible about 
the unknown, that inspired 
awe and checked familiarity. 
On entering the amphithea- 
ter, new objects of wonder pre- 
sented themselves/ On a level 
spot in the center 'was a com- 

20 



pany of odd-looking person- 
ages playing at ninepins."! 

f^They were dressed in a quaint, 
outlandish fashion; some wore 
short doublets, others jerkins, 
with long knives in their belts, 
and most of them had enor- 
mous breeches, of similar style 
with that of the guide's. Their 
visages, too, were peculiar: 
one had a large beard, broad 
face, and small piggish eyes; 
the face of another seemed 
to consist entirely of nose, 
and was surmounted by a 

■ white sugar-loaf hat, set off 
with a little red cock's tail. 
They all had beards, of vari- 
ous shapes and colors. There 
was one who seemed to be the 
commander. He was a stout 
old gentleman, with a weather- 
beaten countenance; he wore 
a laced doublet, broad belt 
and hanger, high crowned hat 
and feather, red stockings, and 

21 



high-heeled shoes, with roses 
in them. The whole group 
reminded Rip of the figures in 
an old Flemish painting, in the 
parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, 
the village parson, and which 
had been brought over from 
Holland at the time of the set- 
tlement. 

What seemed particularly 
odd to Rip was, that, though 
these folks were evidently- 
amusing themselves, yet they 
maintained the gravest faces, 
the most mysterious silence, 
and were, withal, the most 
melancholy party of pleasure 
he had ever witnessed. L,No- 
thing interrupted the stillness 
of the scene but the noise of 
the balls, which, whenever 
they rolled, echoed along the 
mountains like rumbling peals 
of thunder. J 

As Rip and his companion 
approached them, they sud- 
22 



denly desisted from their play, 
and stared at him with such 
fixed, statue-like gaze, and 
such strange, uncouth, lack- 
luster countenances, that his 
heart turned within him, and 
his knees smote together. His 
companion now emptied the 
contents of the keg into large 
flagons, and made signs to him 
to wait upon the company. He 
obeyed with fear and trem- 
bling; they quaffed the liquor 
in profound silence, and then 
returned to their game. 

By degrees Rip's awe and 
apprehension subsided. He 
even ventured, when no eye 
was fixed upon him, to taste 
the beverage, which he found 
had much of the flavor of ex- 
cellent Hollands. He was 
naturally a thirsty soul, and 
was soon tempted to repeat 
the draft. One taste pro- 
voked another; and he reiter- 

23 



ated his visits to the flagon so 
often that at length his senses 
were overpowered, his eyes 
swam in his head, his head 
gradually declined, and he 
fell into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found him- 
self on the green knoll whence 
he had first seen the old man 
of the glen. He rubbed his 
eyes— it was a bright sunny 
morning. The birds were 
hopping and twittering among 
the bushes, and the eagle was 
wheeling aloft, and breasting 
the pure mountain breeze. 
"Surely," thought Rip, "I 
have not slept here all night." 
He recalled the occurrences 
before he fell asleep. The 
strange man with a keg of 
liquor— the mountain ravine 
—the wild retreat among the 
rocks— the woe-begone party 
at ninepins— the flagon— "Oh! 
that flagon! that wicked flag- 

24 



on!" thought Rip, "what ex- 
cuse shall I make to Dame 
Van Winkle?" 

He looked round for his 
gun, but in place of the clean, 
well-oiled fowling-piece, he 
found an old firelock lying by 
him, the barrel incrusted with 
rust, the lock falling off, and 
the stock worm-eaten. He 
now suspected that the grave 
roisters of the mountains had 
put a trick upon him, and, 
having dosed him with liquor, 
had robbed him of his gun. 
Wolf, too, had disappeared, 
but he might have strayed 
away after a squirrel or par- 
tridge. He whistled after him, 
and shouted his name, but all 
in vain; the echoes repeated 
his whistle and shout, but no 
dog was to be seen. 

He determined to revisit 
the scene of the last evening's 
gambol, and if he met with any 

25 



of the party, to demand his 
dog and gun. As he rose to 
walk, he found himself stiff 
in the joints, and wanting in 
his usual activity. "These 
mountain beds do not agree 
with me," thought Rip, " and 
if this frolic should lay me up 
with a fit of the rheumatism, 
I shall have a blessed time 
with Dame Van Winkle." 
With some difficulty he got 
down into the glen: he found 
the gully up which he and his 
companion had ascended the 
preceding evening; but to his 
astonishment a mountain 
stream was now foaming down 
it, leaping from rock to rock, 
and filling the glen with bab- 
bling murmurs. He, however, 
made shift to scramble up its 
sides, working his toilsome 
way through thickets of birch, 
sassafras, and witch-hazel, and 
sometimes tripped up or en- 



tangled by the wild grape-vines 
that twisted their coils or ten- 
drils from tree to tree, and 
spread a kind of network in 
his path. 

At length he reached to 
where the ravine had opened 
through the cliffs to the am- 
phitheater; but no traces of 
such opening remained. The 
rocks presented a high, im- 
penetrable wall, over which the 
torrent came tumbling in a 
sheet of feathery foam, and 
fell into a broad deep basin, 
black from the shadows of the 
surrounding forest. Here, 
then, poor Rip was brought to 
a stand. He again called and 
whistled after his dog; he was 
only answered by the cawing 
of a flock of idle crows, sport- 
ing high in air about a dry tree 
that overhung a sunny preci- 
pice; and who, secure in their 
elevation, seemed to look down 

27 



and scoff at the poor man's 
perplexities. What was to be 
done? the morning was pass- 
ing away, and Rip felt fam- 
ished for want of his break- 
fast. He grieved to give up 
his dog and gun; he dreaded 
to meet his wife; but it would 
not do to starve among the 
mountains. He shook his 
head, shouldered the rusty- 
firelock, and, with a heart full 
of trouble and anxiety, turned 
his footsteps homeward. 

As he approached the vil- 
lage he met a number of peo- 
ple, but none whom he knew, 
which somewhat surprised 
him, for he had thought him- 
self acquainted with every one 
in the country round. Their 
dress, too, was of a different 
fashion from that to which he 
was accustomed. They all 
stared at him with equal 
marks of surprise, and when- 

28 



ever they cast their eyes upon 
him, invariably stroked their 
chins. The constant recur- 
rence of this gesture induced 
Rip, involuntarily, to do the 
same, when, to his astonish- 
ment, he found his beard had 
grown a foot long! 

He had now entered the 
skirts of the village. A 
troop of strange children ran 
at his heels, hooting after him, 
and pointing at his gray beard. 
The dogs, too, not one of which 
he recognized for an old ac- 
quaintance, barked at him as 
he passed. The very village 
was altered; it was larger and 
more populous. There were 
rows of nouses which he had 
never seen before, and those 
which had been his familiar 
haunts had disappeared. 
Strange names were over 
the doors— strange faces at 
the windows— everything was 

29 



strange. His mind now mis- 
gave him; he began to doubt 
whether both he and the world 
around him were not be- 
witched. Surely this was his 
native village, which he had 
left but the day before. There 
stood the Kaatskill mountains 
—there ran the silver Hudson 
at a distance— there was every 
hill and dale precisely as it had 
always been. Rip was sorely 
perplexed. " That flagon last 
night," thought he, "has 
addled my poor head sadly!" 
It was with some difficulty 
that he found the way to his 
own house, which he ap- 
proached with silent awe, 
expecting every moment to 
hear the shrill voice of Dame 
Van Winkle. He found the 
house gone to decay— the roof 
fallen in, the windows shat- 
tered, and the doors off the 
hinges. A half-starved dog 



that looked like Wolf was 
skulking about it. Rip called 
him by name, but the cur 
snarled, showed his teeth, and 
passed on. This was an unkind 
cut indeed. " My very dog," 
sighed poor Rip, " has forgot- 
ten me!" 

He entered the house, which, 
to tell the truth, Dame Van 
Winkle had always kept in 
neat order. It was empty, 
forlorn, and apparently aban- 
doned. This desolateness 
overcame all his connubial 
fears— he called loudly for nis 
wife and children— the lonely 
chambers rang for a moment 
with his voice, and then all 
again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and 
hastened to his old resort, the 
village inn, but it too was 
gone. A large rickety wooden 
building stood in its place, with 
great gaping windows, some of 

31 



them broken and mended with 
old hats and petticoats, and 
over the door was painted, 
"The Union Hotel, by Jona- 
than Doolittle." Instead of 
the great tree that used to 
shelter the quiet little Dutch 
inn of yore, there now was 
reared a tall naked pole, with 
something on the top that 
looked like a red nightcap, and 
from it was fluttering a flag, 
on which was a singular as- 
semblage of stars and stripes; 
—all this was strange and in- 
comprehensible. He recog- 
nized on the sign, however, the 
ruby face of King George, 
under which he had smoked so 
many a peaceful pipe ; but even 
this was singularly metamor- 
phosed. The red coat was 
changed for one of blue and 
buff, a sword was held in the 
hand instead of a scepter, the 
head was decorated with a 

32 



cocked hat, and underneath 
was painted in large charac- 
ters, General Washington. 
There was, as usual, a crowd 
of folk about the door, but 
none that Rip recollected. 
The very character of the peo- 
ple seemed changed. There 
was a busy, bustling, disputa- 
tious tone about it, instead of 
the accustomed phlegm and 
drowsy tranquillity. He 
looked in vain for the sage 
Nicholas Vedder, with his 
broad face, double chin, and 
fair long pipe, uttering clouds 
of tobacco-smoke instead of 
idle speeches; or Van Bummel, 
the schoolmaster, doling forth 
the contents of an ancient 
newspaper. In place of these, 
a lean, bilious-looking fellow, 
with his pockets full of hand- 
bills, was haranguing vehe- 
mently about rights of citizens 
— elections— members of con- 



gress— liberty— Bunker's Hill 
—heroes of seventy-six— and 
other words, which were a per- 
fect Babylonish jargon to the 
bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with 
his long, grizzled beard, his 
rusty fowling-piece, his un- 
couth dress, and an army of 
women and children at his 
heels, soon attracted the at- 
tention of the tavern-politi- 
cians. They crowded round 
him, eying him from head to 
foot with great curiosity. The 
orator bustled up to him, and, 
drawing him partly aside, in- 
quired "On which side he 
voted ? " Rip stared in vacant 
stupidity. Another short but 
busy little fellow pulled him 
by the arm, and, rising on tip- 
toe, inquired in his ear, 
" Whether he was Federal or 
Democrat? " Rip was equally 
at a loss to comprehend the 

34 



question; when a knowing, 
self-important old gentleman, 
in a sharp cocked hat, made 
his way through the crowd, 
putting them to the right and 
left with his elbows as he 
passed, and planting himself 
before Van Winkle, with one 
arm akimbo, the other resting 
on his cane, his keen eyes and 
sharp hat penetrating, as it 
were, into his very soul, de- 
manded in an austere tone, 
"What brought him to the 
election with a gun on his 
shoulder, and a mob at his 
heels; and whether he meant 
to breed a riot in the village? " 
—"Alas! gentlemen," cried 
Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I 
am a poor quiet man, a native 
of the place, and a loyal sub- 
ject of the King, God bless 
him!" 

Here a general shout burst 
from the bystanders — " A 



tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! 
hustle him! away with him!" 
It was with great difficulty 
that the self-important man in 
the cocked hat restored order; 
and, having assumed a tenfold 
austerity of brow, demanded 
again of the unknown culprit, 
what he came there for, and 
whom he was seeking? The 
poor man humbly assured him 
that he meant no harm, but 
merely came there in search 
of some of his neighbors, who 
used to keep about the tavern. 

"Well— who are they?— 
name them." 

Rip bethought himself a mo- 
ment, and inquired, " Where 's 
Nicholas Vedder?" 

There was a silence for a 
little while, when an old man 
replied, in a thin piping voice, 
"Nicholas Vedder! why, he is 
dead and gone these eighteen 
years! There was a wooden 



tombstone in the churchyard 
that used to tell all about him, 
but that 's rotten and gone too." 

" Where 's Brom Dutcher ? " 

" Oh, he went off to the army 
in the beginning of the war; 
some say he was killed at the 
storming of Stony Point— 
others say he was drowned in 
a squall at the foot of Antony's 
Nose. I don't know— he never 
came back again." 

" Where 's Van Bummel, the 
schoolmaster?" 

"He went off to the wars 
too, was a great militia gen- 
eral, and is now in congress." 

Rip's heart died away at 
hearing of these sad changes 
in his home and friends, and 
finding himself thus alone in 
the world . Every answer puz- 
zled him too, by treating of 
such enormous lapses of time, 
and of matters which he could 
not understand: war— con- 

37 



gress— Stony Point— he had 
no courage to ask after any 
more friends, but cried out in 
despair, "Does nobody here 
know Rip Van Winkle?" 

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" 
exclaimed two or three, "oh, 
to be sure! that 's Rip Van 
Winkle yonder, leaning against 
the tree." 

Rip looked, and he beheld a 
precise counterpart of himself, 
as he went up the mountain; 
apparently as lazy, and cer- 
tainly as ragged. The poor 
fellow was now completely 
confounded. He doubted his 
own identity, and whether he 
was himself or another man. 
In the midst of his bewilder- 
ment, the man in the cocked 
hat demanded who he was, and 
what was his name? 

" God knows," exclaimed he, 
at his wit's end; " I 'm not my- 
self— I 'm somebody else— 

38 



that 's me yonder— no— that 's 
somebody else got into my 
shoes— I was myself last night, 
but I fell asleep on the moun- 
tain, and they 've changed my 
gun,and everything 's changed, 
and I 'm changed, and I can't 
tell what 's my name, or who 
lam!" 

The bystanders began now 
to look at each other, nod, wink 
significantly, and tap their fin- 
gers against their foreheads. 
There was a whisper, also, 
about securing the gun, and 
keeping the old fellow from 
doing mischief, at the very 
suggestion of which the self- 
important man in the cocked 
hat retired with some precipi- 
tation. At this critical mo- 
ment a fresh, comely woman 
pressed through the throng to 
get a peep at the gray-bearded 
man. She had a chubby child 
in her arms, which, frightened 

39 



at his looks, began to cry. 
" Hush, Rip," cried she, " hush, 
you little fool; the old man 
won't hurt you." The name 
of the child, the air of the 
mother, the tone of her voice, 
all awakened a train of recol- 
lections in his mind. "What 
is your name, my good wom- 
an?" asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 
" And your father's name? " 
"Ah, poor man, Rip Van 
Winkle was his name, but it 's 
twenty years since he went 
away from home with his gun, 
and never has been heard of 
since,— his dog came home 
without him; but whether he 
shot himself, or was carried 
away by the Indians, nobody 
can tell. I was then out a lit- 
tle girl." 

Rip had but one question 
more to ask; but he put it with 
a faltering voice: 



"Where 's your mother?" 

"Oh, she too had died but 
a short time since; she broke 
a blood-vessel in a fit of pas- 
sion at a New England ped- 
dler." 

There was a drop of com- 
fort, at least, in this intelli- 
gence. The honest man could 
contain himself no longer. 
He caught his daughter and 
her child in his arms. " I am 
your father!" cried he— 
" Young Rip Van Winkle once 
—old Rip Van Winkle now! 
—Does nobody know poor Rip 
Van Winkle?" 

All stood amazed, until an 
old woman, tottering out from 
among the crowd, put her hand 
to her brow, and peering under 
it in his face for a moment, 
exclaimed, " Sure enough! it is 
Rip Van Winkle— it is him- 
self! Welcome home again, 
old neighbor. Why, where 



have you been these twenty 
long years?" 

Rip's story was soon told, 
for the whole twenty years 
had been to him but as one 
night. The neighbors stared 
when they heard it; some were 
seen to wink at each other, and 
put their tongues in their 
cheeks: and the self-important 
man in the cocked hat, who, 
when the alarm was over, had 
returned to the field, screwed 
down the corners of his mouth, 
and shook his head— upon 
which there was a general 
shaking of the head through- 
out the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, 
to take the opinion of old Peter 
Vanderdonk, who was seen 
slowly advancing up the road. 
He was a descendant of the 
historian of that name, who 
wrote one of the earliest ac- 
counts of the province. Peter 

42 



was the most ancient inhabi- 
tant of the village, and well 
versed in all the wonderful 
events and traditions of the 
neighborhood. He recollected 
Rip at once, and corroborated 
his story in the most satisfac- 
tory manner. He assured the 
company that it was a fact, 
handed down from his ances- 
tor the historian, that the 
Kaatskill mountains had al- 
ways been haunted by strange 
beings. That it was affirmed 
that the great Hendrick Hud- 
son, the first discoverer of the 
river and country, kept a kind 
of vigil there every twenty 
years, with his crew of the 
Half-moon ; being permitted in 
this way to revisit the scenes 
of his enterprise, and keep a 
guardian eye upon the river 
and the great city called by 
his name. That his father 
had once seen them in their 

43 



old Dutch dresses playing at 
ninepins in a hollow of the 
mountain; and that he himself 
had heard, one summer after- 
noon, the sound of their balls, 
like distant peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, 
the company broke up and re- 
turned to the more important 
concerns of the election. Rip's 
daughter took him home to live 
with her; she had a snug, well- 
furnished house, and a stout, 
cheery farmer for a husband, 
whom Rip recollected for one 
of the urchins that used to 
climb upon his back. As to 
Rip's son and heir, who was 
the ditto of himself, seen lean- 
ing against the tree, he was 
employed to work on the farm; 
but evinced an hereditary dis- 
position to attend to anything 
else but his business. 

Rip now resumed his old 
walks and habits; he soon 



found many of his former 
cronies, though all rather the 
worse for the wear and tear of 
time; and preferred making 
friends among the rising gen- 
eration, with whom he soon 
grew into great favor. 

Having nothing to do at 
home, and being arrived at 
that happy age when a man 
can be idle with impunity, he 
took his place once more on 
the bench at the inn door, and 
was reverenced as one of the 
patriarchs of the village, and 
a chronicle of the old times 
" before the war." It was some 
time before he could get into 
the regular track of gossip, or 
could be made to comprehend 
the strange events that had 
taken place during his torpor. 
How that there had been a 
revolutionary war,— that the 
country had thrown off the 
yoke of old England,— and 

45 



that, instead of being a sub- 
ject of His Majesty George 
the Third, he was now a free 
citizen of the United States. 
Rip, in fact, was no politician; 
the changes of states and em- 
pires made but little impression 
on him; but there was one spe- 
cies of despotism under which 
he had long groaned, and 
that was— petticoat govern- 
ment. Happily that was at an 
end; he had got his neck out 
of the yoke of matrimony, and 
could go in and out whenever 
he pleased, without dreading 
the tyranny of Dame Van 
Winkle. Whenever her name 
was mentioned, however, he 
shook his head, shrugged his 
shoulders, and cast up his eyes; 
which might pass either for an 
expression of resignation to 
his fate, or joy at his deliver- 
ance. 

He used to tell his story to 

46 



every stranger that arrived at 
Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was 
observed, at first, to vary on 
some points every time he told 
it, which was, doubtless, owing 
to his having so recently 
awaked. It at last settled 
down precisely to the tale I 
have related, and not a man, 
woman, or child in the neigh- 
borhood but knew it by heart. 
Some always pretended to 
doubt the reality of it, and 
insisted that Rip had been out 
of his head, and that this was 
one point on which he always, 
remained flighty. The old 
Dutch inhabitants, however, 
almost universally gave it full 
credit. Even to this day they 
never hear a thunder-storm 
of a summer afternoon about 
the Kaatskill, but they say 
Hendrick Hudson and his crew 
are at their game of ninepins; 
and it is a common wish of all 

47 



henpecked husbands in the 
neighborhood, when life hangs 
heavy on their hands, that 
they might have a quieting 
draft out of Rip Van Winkle's 
flagon. 

NOTE 

The foregoing Tale, one would 
suspect, had been suggested to 
Mr. Knickerbocker by a little 
German superstition about the 
Emperor Frederick der Rothbart, 
and theKypphauser mountain: the 
subjoined note, however, which he 
had appended to the tale, shows 
that it is an absolute fact, nar- 
rated with his usual fidelity. 

" The story of Rip Van Winkle 
may seem incredible to many, but 
nevertheless I give it my full be- 
lief, for I know the vicinity of our 
old Dutch settlements to have been 
very subject to marvelous events 
and appearances. Indeed, I have 
heard many stranger stories than 
this, in the villages along the Hud- 

48 



son; all of which were too well au- 
thenticated to admit of a doubt. 
I have even talked with Rip Van 
Winkle myself, who, when last I 
saw him, was a very venerable old 
man, and so perfectly rational and 
consistent on every other point, 
that I think no conscientious per- 
son could refuse to take this into 
the bargain; nay, I have seen a 
certificate on the subject taken 
before a country justice and signed 
with a cross, in the justice's own 
handwriting. The story, there- 
fore, is beyond the possibility of 
doubt. 

"D. K." 

POSTSCRIPT 

The following are traveling 
notes from a memorandum-book 
of Mr. Knickerbocker. 

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill 
Mountains, have always been a 
region full of fable. The Indians 
considered them the abode of 
spirits, who influenced the weather, 
spreading sunshine or clouds over 



the landscape, and sending good or 
bad hunting-seasons. They were 
ruled by an old squaw spirit, said 
to be their mother. She dwelt on 
the highest peak of the Catskills, 
and had charge of the doors of day 
and night to open and shut them 
at the proper hour. She hung up 
the new moons in the skies, and 
cut up the old ones into stars. In 
times of drought, if properly propi- 
tiated, she would spin light summer 
clouds out of cobwebs and morn- 
ing dew, and send them off from 
the crest of the mountain, flake 
after flake, like flakes of carded 
cotton, to float in the air; until, 
dissolved by the heat of the sun, 
they would fall in gentle showers, 
causing the grass to spring, the 
fruits to ripen, and the corn to 
grow an inch an hour. If dis- 
pleased, however, she would brew 
up clouds black as ink, sitting in 
the midst of them like a bottle-bel- 
lied spider in the midst of its web; 
and when these clouds broke, woe 
betide the valleys! 

In old times, say the Indian 

50 



traditions, there was a kind of 
Manitou or Spirit, who kept about 
the wildest recesses of the Catskill 
Mountains, and took a mischievous 
pleasure in wreaking all kinds of 
evils and vexations upon the red 
men. Sometimes he would assume 
the form of a bear, a panther, or 
a deer, lead the bewildered hunter 
a weary chase through tangled 
forests and among ragged rocks; 
and then spring off with a loud 
ho! ho! leaving him aghast on the 
brink of a beetling precipice or 
raging torrent. 

The favorite abode of this 
Manitou is still shown. It is a 
great rock or cliff on the loneliest 
part of the mountains, and, from 
the flowering vines which clamber 
about it, and the wild flowers 
which abound in its neighborhood, 
is known by the name of the Gar- 
den Rock. Near the foot of it is 
a small lake, the haunt of the soli- 
tary bittern, with water-snakes 
basking in the sun on the leaves 
of the pond-lilies which lie on the 
surface. This place was held in 

51 



great awe by the Indians, inso- 
much that the boldest hunter 
would not pursue his game within 
its precincts. Once upon a time, 
however, a hunter, who had lost 
his way, penetrated to the Garden 
Rock, where he beheld a number 
of gourds placed in the crotches of 
trees. One of these he seized and 
made off with it, but in the hurry 
of his retreat he let it fall among 
the rocks, when a great stream 
gushed forth, which washed him 
away and swept him down preci- 
pices, where he was dashed to 
pieces, and the stream made its 
way to the Hudson, and continues 
to flow to the present day; being 
the identical stream known by the 
name of the Kaaterskill. 



52 



THE LEGEND OF 
SLEEPY HOLLOW 



THE LEGEND OF 
SLEEPY HOLLOW 



FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS 

OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 

KNICKERBOCKER 

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
Of dreams that wave before the 
half -shut eye, 
And of gay castles in the clouds that 
pass, 
Foreverflushing round a summersky. 
Castle of Indolence. 

In the bosom of one of those 
spacious coves which indent 
the eastern shore of the Hud- 

L 55 



son, at that broad expansion 
of the river denominated by the 
ancient Dutch navigators the 
Tappan Zee, and where they 
always prudently shortened 
sail, and implored the protec- 
tion of St. Nicholas when they 
crossed, there lies a small mar- 
ket-town or rural port, which 
by some is called Greensburgh, 
but which is more generally 
and properly known .by the 
name of Tarry Town^j This 
name was given, we are told, 
in former days, by the good 
housewives of the adjacent 
country, from the inveterate 
propensity of their husbands to 
linger about the village tavern 
on market-days. Be that as 
it may, I do not vouch for the 
fact, but merely advert to it 
for the sake of being precise 
and authentic. TNot far from 
this village, perfiaps about two 
miles, there is a little valley, 

56 



or rather lap of land, among 
high hills, which is one of the 
quietest places in the whole 
world. A small brook glides 
through it, with just murmur 
enough to lull one to repose; 
and the occasional whistle of 
a quail, or tapping of a wood- 
pecker, is almost the only 
sound that ever breaks in upon 
-the uniform tranquillity.^ 

I recollect that, when a 
stripling, my first exploit in 
squirrel-shooting was in a 
grove of tall walnut-trees 
that shades one side of the 
valley. I had wandered into 
it at noontime, when all na- 
ture is particularly quiet, and 
was startled by the roar of my 
own gun, as it broke the Sab- 
bath stillness around, and was 
prolonged and reverberated by 
the angry echoes. If ever I 
should wish for a retreat, 
whither I might steal from the 

57 



world and its distractions, and 
dream quietly away the rem- 
nant of a troubled life, I know 
of none more promising than 
this little valley. 

From the listless repose of 
the place, and the peculiar 
character of its inhabitants, 
who are descendants from the 
original Dutch settlers, this 
sequestered glen has long been 
known by the name of Sleepy 
Hollow, and its rustic lads are 
called the Sleepy Hollow Boys 
throughout all the neighbor- 
ing country. A drowsy, 
dreamy influence seems to 
hang over the land, and to 
pervade the very atmosphere/ 
Some say that the place was 
bewitched by a high German 
doctor, during the early days 
of the settlement; others, that 
an old Indian chief, the prophet 
or wizard of his tribe, held his 
powwows therebef orethecoun- 



try was discovered by Master 
Hendrick Hudson. Certain it 
is, the place still continues 
under the sway of some be- 
witching power, that holds a 
spell over the minds of the 
good people, causing them to 
walk in a continual reverie. 
They are given to all kinds of 
marvelous beliefs; are subject 
to trances and visions; and fre- 
quently see strange sights, and 
hear music and voices in the 
air. The whole neighborhood 
abounds with local tales, 
haunted spots, and twilight 
superstitions; stars shoot and 
meteors glare oftener across 
the valley than in any other 
part of the country, and the 
nightmare, with her whole 
ninefold, seems to make it the 
favorite scene of her gambols. 
The dominant spirit, how- 
ever, that haunts this en- 
chanted region, and seems to 

59 



be commander-in-chief of all 
the powers of the air, is the 
apparition of a figure on horse- 
back without a head. It is 
said by some to be the ghost 
of a Hessian trooper, whose 
head had been carried away by 
a cannon-ball, in some name- 
less battle during the Revolu- 
tionary War, and who is ever 
and anon seen by the country 
folk, hurrying along in the 
gloom of night, as if on the 
wings of the wind. His haunts 
are not confined to the valley, 
but extend at times to the ad- 
jacent roads, and especially to 
the vicinity of a church at no 
great distance. Indeed, cer- 
tain of the most authentic his- 
torians of those parts, who 
have been careful in collecting 
and collating the floating facts 
concerning this specter, allege 
that, the body of the trooper 
having been buried in the 



churchyard, the ghost rides 
forth to the scene of battle in 
nightly quest of his head; and 
that the rushing speed with 
which he sometimes passes 
along the Hollow, like a mid- 
night blast, is owing to his 
being belated, and in a hurry 
to get back to the churchyard 
before daybreak. 

Such is the general purport 
of this legendary superstition, 
which has furnished materials 
for many a wild story in that 
region of shadows; and the 
specter is known, at all the 
country firesides, by the name 
of the Headless Horseman of 
Sleepy Hollow. 

It is remarkable that the 
visionary propensity I have 
mentioned is not confined to 
the native inhabitants of the 
valley, but is unconsciously im- 
bibed by every one who resides 
there for a time. However 

61 



wide awake they may have 
been before they entered that 
sleepy region, they are sure, 
in a little time, to inhale the 
witching influence of the air, 
and begin to grow imaginative, 
to dream dreams, and see ap- 
paritions. 

C.I mention this peaceful spot 
with all possible laud; for it is 
in such little retired Dutch 
valleys, found here and there 
embosomed in the great State 
of New York, that population, 
manners, and customs remain 
fixed; while the great torrent 
of migration and improvement, 
which is making such incessant 
changes in other parts of this 
restless country, sweeps by 
them unobserved. They are 
like those little nooks of still 
water which border a rapid 
stream; where we may see the 
straw and bubble riding quietly 
at anchor, or slowly revolving 

62 



in their mimic harbor, undis- 
turbed by the rush of the 
passing current. Though 
many years have elapsed since 
I trod the drowsy shades of 
Sleepy Hollow, yet I question 
whether I should not still find 
the same trees and the same 
families vegetating in its shel- 
tered bosom.~7 

In this by-place of nature, 
there abode, in a remote period 
of American history, that is to 
say, some thirty years since, a 
worthy wight of the name of 
Ichabod Crane ; who sojourned, 
or, as he expressed it, "tar- 
ried," in Sleepy Hollow, for 
the purpose of instructing the 
children of the vicinity. He 
was a native of Connecticut, a 
State which supplies the Union 
with pioneers for the mind as 
well as for the forest, and 
sends forth yearly its legions 
of frontier woodsmen and coun- 

63 



try schoolmasters. The cogno- 
men of Crane was not inappli- 
cable to his person. He was 
tall, but exceedingly lank, with 
narrow shoulders, long arms 
and legs, hands that dangled 
a mile out of his sleeves, feet 
that might have served for 
shovels, and his whole frame 
most loosely hung together. 
His head was small, and flat 
at top, with huge ears, large 
green glassy eyes, and a long 
snipe nose, so that it looked 
like a weathercock perched 
upon his spindle neck, to tell 
which way the wind blew. To 
see him striding along the 
profile of a hill on a windy day, 
with his clothes bagging and 
fluttering about him, one 
might have mistaken him for 
the genius of famine descend- 
ing upon the earth, or some 
scarecrow eloped from a corn- 
field. 

64 



His school-house was a low 
building of one large room, 
rudely constructed of logs; the 
windows partly glazed, and 
partly patched with leaves of 
old copy-books. It was most 
ingeniously secured at vacant 
hours by a withe twisted in 
the handle of the door, and 
stakes set against the window- 
shutters; so that, though a 
thief might get in with perfect 
ease, he would find some em- 
barrassment in getting out: an 
idea most probably borrowed 
by the architect, Yost Van 
Houten, from the mystery of 
an eel-pot. The school-house 
stood in a rather lonely but 
pleasant situation, just at the 
foot of a woody hill, with a 
brook running close by, and a 
formidable birch-tree growing 
at one end of it. From hence 
the low murmur of his pupils' 
voices, conning over their les- 



sons, might be heard on a 
drowsy summer's day, like the 
hum of a beehive; interrupted 
now and then by the authori- 
tative voice of the master, in 
the tone of menace or com- 
mand ; or, peradventure, by the 
appalling sound of the birch, 
as he urged some tardy loi- 
terer along the flowery path of 
knowledge. Truth to say, he 
was a conscientious man, and 
ever bore in mind the golden 
maxim, "Spare the rod and 
spoil the child." Ichabod 
Crane's scholars certainly were 
not spoiled. 

I would not have it imagined, 
however, that he was one of 
those cruel potentates of the 
school who joy in the smart of 
their subjects; on the con- 
trary, he administered justice 
with discrimination rather 
than severity, taking the bur- 
den off the backs of the weak, 



and laying it on those of the 
strong. Your mere puny 
stripling, that winced at the 
least flourish of the rod, was 
passed by with indulgence; 
but the claims of justice were 
satisfied by inflicting a double 
portion on some little, tough, 
wrong-headed, broad-skirted 
Dutch urchin, who sulked and 
swelled and grew dogged and 
sullen beneath the birch. All 
this he called "doing his 
duty" by their parents; and 
he never inflicted a chastise- 
ment without following it by 
the assurance, so consolatory 
to the smarting urchin, that 
"he would remember it, and 
thank him for it the longest 
day he had to live." 

When school hours were 
over, he was even the compan- 
ion and playmate of the larger 
boys; and on holiday after- 
noons would convoy some of 

67 



the smaller ones home, who 
happened to have pretty sis- 
ters, or good housewives for 
mothers, noted for the com- 
forts of the cupboard. Indeed, 
it behooved him to keep on 
good terms with his pupils. 
The revenue arising from his 
school was small, and would 
have been scarcely sufficient 
to furnish him with daily bread, 
for he was a huge feeder, and, 
though lank, had the dilating 
powers of an anaconda; but to 
help out his maintenance, he 
was, according to country cus- 
tom in those parts, boarded 
and lodged at the houses of 
the farmers whose children he 
instructed. With these he 
lived successively a week at a 
time; thus going the rounds 
of the neighborhood, with all 
his worldly effects tied up in a 
cotton handkerchief. 

That all this might not be 



too onerous on the purses of 
his rustic patrons, who are apt 
to consider the costs of school- 
ing a grievous burden, and 
schoolmasters as mere drones, 
he had various ways of render- 
ing himself both useful and 
agreeable. He assisted the 
farmers occasionally in the 
lighter labors of their farms; 
helped to make hay; mended 
the fences; took the horses to 
water; drove the cows from 
pasture; and cut wood for the 
winter fire. He laid aside, too, 
all the dominant dignity and 
absolute sway with which he 
lorded it in his little empire, 
the school, and became won- 
derfully gentle and ingratiat- 
ing. He found favor in the 
eyes of the mothers, by petting 
the children, particularly the 
youngest; and like the lion 
bold, which whilom so mag- 
nanimously the lamb did hold, 



he would sit with a child on 
one knee, and rock a cradle 
with his foot for whole hours 
together. 

In addition to his other vo- 
cations, he was the singing- 
master of the neighborhood, 
and picked up many bright 
shillings by instructing the 
young folks in psalmody. It 
was a matter of no little vanity 
to him, on Sundays, to take his 
station in front of the church- 
gallery, with a band of chosen 
singers; where, in his own 
mind, he completely carried 
away the palm from the par- 
son. Certain it is, his voice 
resounded far above all the 
rest of the congregation; and 
there are peculiar quavers still 
to be heard in that church, and 
which may even be heard half 
a mile off, quite to the oppo- 
site side of the mill-pond, on 
a still Sunday morning, which 

70 



are said to be legitimately de- 
scended from the nose of Icha- 
bod Crane. Thus, by divers 
little makeshifts in that in- 
genious way which is com- 
monly denominated "by hook 
and by crook," the worthy 
pedagogue got on tolerably 
enough, and was thought, by 
all who understood nothing of 
the labor of head-work, to have 
a wonderfully easy life of it. 
The schoolmaster is gener- 
ally a man of some impor- 
tance in the female circle of a 
rural neighborhood; being con- 
sidered a kind of idle, gentle- 
manlike personage, of vastly 
superior taste and accomplish- 
ments to the rough country 
swains, and, indeed, inferior in 
learning only to the parson. 
His appearance, therefore, is 
apt to occasion some little stir 
at the tea-table of a farm- 
house, and the addition of a su- 

71 



pernumerary dish of cakes or 
sweetmeats, or, peradventure, 
the parade of a silver tea-pot. 
Our man of letters, therefore, 
was peculiarly happy in the 
smiles of all the country dam- 
sels. How he would figure 
among them in the churchyard, 
between services on Sundays! 
gathering grapes for them 
from the wild vines that over- 
ran the surrounding trees; re- 
citing for their amusement all 
theepitaphson the tombstones; 
or sauntering, with a whole 
bevy of them, along the banks 
of the adjacent mill-pond; 
while the more bashful coun- 
try bumpkins hung sheepishly 
back, envying his superior ele- 
gance and address. 

From his half-itinerant life, 
also, he was a kind of travel- 
ing gazette, carrying the whole 
budget of local gossip from 
house to house: so that his 

72 



appearance was always greeted 
with satisfaction. He was, 
moreover, esteemed by the 
women as a man of great eru- 
dition, for he had read several 
books quite through, and was 
a perfect master of Cotton 
•Mather's "History of New 
England Witchcraft," in 
which, by the way, he most 
firmly and potently believed. 
He was, in fact, an odd mix- 
ture of small shrewdness and 
simple credulity. His appetite 
for the marvelous, and his 
powers of digesting it, were 
equally extraordinary; and 
both had been increased by 
his residence in this spell- 
bound region. No tale was 
too gross or monstrous for his 
capacious swallow. It was 
often his delight, after his 
school was dismissed in the 
afternoon, to stretch himself 
on the rich bed of clover bor- 

73 



dering the little brook that 
whimpered by his school-house, 
and there con over old Math- 
er's direful tales, until the 
gathering dusk of the evening 
made the printed page a mere 
mist before his eyes. Then, 
as he wended his way, by swamp 
and stream, and awful wood- 
land, to the farm-house where 
he happened to be quartered, 
every sound of nature, at that 
witching hour, fluttered his 
excited imagination; the moan 
of the whippoorwill x from the 
hillside; the boding cry of the 
tree-toad, that harbinger of 
storm; the dreary hooting of 
the screech-owl, or the sudden 
rustling in the thicket of birds 
frightened from their roost. 
The fireflies, too, which spar- 

1 The whippoorwill is a bird which 
is only heard at night. It receives its 
name from its note, which is thought 
to resemble those words. 

74 



kled most vividly in the dark- 
est places, now and then 
startled him, as one of uncom- 
mon brightness would stream 
across his path; and if, by 
chance, a huge blockhead of a 
beetle came winging his blun- 
dering flight against him, the 
poor varlet was ready to give 
up the ghost, with the idea 
that he was struck with a 
witch's token. His only re- 
source on such occasions, 
either to drown thought or 
drive away evil spirits, was to 
sing psalm-tunes; and the good 
people of Sleepy Hollow, as 
they sat by their doors of an 
evening, were often filled with 
awe at hearing his nasal 
melody, "in linked sweetness 
long drawn out," floating from 
the distant hill, or along the 
dusky road. 

Another of his sources of 
fearful pleasure was to pass 

75 



long winter evenings with the 
old Dutch wives, as they sat 
spinning by the fire, with a 
row of apples roasting and 
spluttering along the hearth, 
and listen to their marvelous 
tales of ghosts and goblins, 
and haunted fields, and haunted 
brooks, and haunted bridges, 
and haunted houses, and par- 
ticularly of the headless horse- 
man, or Galloping Hessian of 
the Hollow, as they sometimes 
called him. He would delight 
them equally by his anecdotes 
of witchcraft, and of the dire- 
ful omens and portentous 
sights and sounds in the air, 
which prevailed in the earlier 
times of Connecticut; and 
would frighten them woefully 
with speculations upon com- 
ets and shooting-stars, and 
with the alarming fact that 
the world did absolutely 
turn round, and that they 

76 



were half the time topsy- 
turvy! 

But if there was a pleasure 
in all this, while snugly cud- 
dling in the chimney-corner 
of a chamber that was all of a 
ruddy glow from the crackling 
wood fire, and where, of course, 
no specter dared to show his 
face, it was dearly purchased 
by the terrors of his subse- 
quent walk homeward. What 
fearful shapes and shadows 
beset his path amidst the dim 
and ghastly glare of a snowy 
night!— With what wistful 
look did he eye every trem- 
bling ray of light streaming 
across the waste fields from 
some distant window!— How 
often was he appalled by some 
shrub covered with snow, 
which, like a sheeted specter, 
beset his very path!— How 
often did he shrink with cur- 
dling awe at the sound of his 



own steps on a frosty crust be- 
neath his feet; and dread to 
look over his shoulder, lest he 
should behold some uncouth 
being tramping close behind 
him!— and how often was he 
thrown into complete dismay- 
by some rushing blast, howling 
among the trees, in the idea 
that it was the Galloping 
Hessian on one of his nightly 
scourings! 

All these, however, were* 
mere terrors of the night, 
phantoms of the mind that 
walk in darkness; and though 
he had seen many specters in 
his time, and been more than 
once beset by Satan in divers 
shapes, in his lonely perambu- 
lations, yet daylight put an end 
to all these evils; and he would 
have passed a pleasant life of 
it, in despite of the devil and 
all his works, if his path had 
not been crossed by a being 

78 



that causes more perplexity to 
mortal man than ghosts, gob- 
lins, and the whole race of 
witches put together, and that 
was— a woman. 

Among the musical disci- 
ples who assembled, one even- 
ing in each week, to receive 
his instructions in psalmody, 
was Katrina Van Tassel, the 
daughter and only child of a 
substantial Dutch farmer. 
She was a blooming lass of 
fresh eighteen; plump as a 
partridge; ripe and melting 
and rosy-cheeked as one of 
her father's peaches, and uni- 
versally famed, not merely for 
her beauty, but her vast ex- 
pectations. She was withal a 
little of a coquette, as might 
be perceived even in her dress, 
which was a mixture of ancient 
and modern fashions, as most 
suited to set off her charms. 
She wore the ornaments of 



pure yellow gold, which her 
great-great-grandmother had 
brought over from Saardam; 
the tempting stomacher of the 
olden time; and withal a pro- 
vokingly short petticoat, to 
display the prettiest foot and 
ankle in the country round. 

Ichabod Crane had a soft 
and foolish heart toward the 
sex; and it is not to be won- 
dered at that so tempting a 
morsel soon found favor in his 
eyes; more especially after he 
had visited her in her paternal 
mansion. Old Baltus Van 
Tassel was a perfect picture 
of a thriving, contented, lib- 
eral-hearted farmer. He sel- 
dom, it is true, sent either his 
eyes or his thoughts beyond 
the boundaries of his own 
farm; but within those every- 
thing was snug, happy, and 
well conditioned. He was sat- 
isfied with his wealth, but not 



proud of it; and piqued himself 
upon the hearty abundance 
rather than the style in which 
he lived. His stronghold was 
situated on the banks of the 
Hudson, in one of those green, 
sheltered, fertile nooks in 
which the Dutch farmers are 
so fond of nestling. A great 
elm-tree spread its broad 
branches over it; at the foot 
of which bubbled up a spring 
of the softest and sweetest 
water, in a little well, formed 
of a barrel; and then stole 
sparkling away through the 
grass, to a neighboring brook, 
that bubbled along among 
alders and dwarf willows. 
Hard by the farm-house was a 
vast barn, that might have 
served for a church; every 
window and crevice of which 
seemed bursting forth with 
the treasures of the farm; the 
flail was busily resounding 

6 81 



within it from morning till 
night; swallows and martins 
skimmed twittering about the 
eaves; and rows of pigeons, 
some with one eye turned up, 
as if watching the weather, 
some with their heads under 
their wings or buried in their 
bosoms, and others swelling, 
and cooing, and bowing about 
their dames, were enjoying'the 
sunshine on the roof. Sleek 
unwieldy porkers were grunt- 
ing in the repose and abun- 
dance of their pens; whence 
sallied forth, now and then, 
troops of sucking pigs, as if 
to snuff the air. A stately 
squadron of snowy geese were 
riding in an adjoining pond, 
convoying whole fleets of 
ducks; regiments of turkeys 
were gobbling through the 
farm-yard, and guinea-fowls 
fretting about it, like ill- 
tempered housewives, with 

82 



their peevish discontented 
cry. Before the barn door 
strutted the gallant cock, that 
pattern of a husband, a war- 
rior, and a fine gentleman, 
clapping his burnished wings, 
and crowing in the pride and 
gladness of his heart— some- 
times tearing up the earth 
with his feet, and then gener- 
ously calling his ever-hungry 
family of wives and children 
to enjoy the rich morsel which 
he had discovered. 

The pedagogue's mouth 
watered, as he looked upon 
this sumptuous promise of 
luxurious winter fare. In 
his devouring mind's eye he 
pictured to himself every 
roasting-pig running about 
with a pudding in his belly, 
and an apple in his mouth; 
the pigeons were snugly put 
to bed in a comfortable pie, 
and tucked in with a coverlet 

83 



of crust; the geese were swim- 
ming in their own gravy; and 
the ducks pairing cozily in 
dishes, like snug married 
couples, with a decent com- 
petency of onion-sauce. In 
the porkers he saw carved out 
the future sleek side of bacon, 
and juicy relishing ham; not 
a turkey but he beheld daintily 
trussed up, with its gizzard 
under its wing, and, perad- 
venture, a necklace of savory 
sausages; and even bright 
chanticleer himself lay sprawl- 
ing on his back, in a side-dish, 
with uplifted claws, as if crav- 
ing that quarter which his 
chivalrous spirit disdained to 
ask while living. 

As the enraptured Ichabod 
fancied all this, and as he rolled 
his great green eyes over the 
fat meadow-lands, the rich 
fields of wheat, of rye, of buck- 
wheat, and Indian corn, and 

84 



the orchard burdened with 
ruddy fruit, which surrounded 
the warm tenement of Van 
Tassel, his heart yearned after 
the damsel who was to inherit 
these domains, and his imagi- 
nation expanded with the 
idea how they might be 
readily turned into cash, and 
the money invested in im- 
mense tracts of wild land, 
and shingle palaces in the wil- 
derness. Nay, his busy fancy 
already realized his hopes, and 
presented to him the blooming 
Katrina, with a whole family 
of children, mounted on the 
top of a wagon loaded with 
household trumpery, with pots 
and kettles dangling beneath ; 
and he beheld himself bestrid- 
ing a pacing mare, with a colt 
at her heels, setting out for 
Kentucky, Tennessee, or the 
Lord knows where. 
When he entered the house, 



the conquest of his heart was 
complete. It was one of those 
spacious farm-houses, with 
high-ridged but lowly-sloping 
roofs, built in the style handed 
down from the first Dutch set- 
tlers; the low projecting eaves 
forming a piazza along the 
front, capable of being closed 
up in bad weather. Under 
this were hung flails, harness, 
various utensils of husbandry, 
and nets for fishing in the 
neighboring river. Benches 
were built along the sides for 
summer use; and a great 
spinning-wheel at one end, 
and a churn at the other, 
showed the various uses to 
which this important porch 
might be devoted. From this 
piazza the wandering Ichabod 
entered the hall, which formed 
the center of the mansion and 
the place of usual residence. 
Here, rows of resplendent pew- 



ter, ranged on a long dresser, 
dazzled his eyes. In one cor- 
ner stood a huge bag of wool 
ready to be spun; in another 
a quantity of linsey-woolsey 
just from the loom; ears of 
Indian corn, and strings of 
dried apples and peaches, hung 
in gay festoons along the walls, 
mingled with the gaud of red 
peppers; and a door left ajar 
gave him a peep into the best 
parlor, where the claw-footed 
chairs and dark mahogany 
tables shone like mirrors; and- 
irons, with their accompanying 
shovel and tongs, glistened 
from their covert of asparagus- 
tops; mock-oranges and conch- 
shells decorated the mantel- 
piece; strings of various- 
colored birds' eggs were sus- 
pended above it, a great 
ostrich-egg was hung from 
the center of the room, and a 
corner cupboard, knowingly 

87 



left open, displayed immense 
treasures of old silver and 
well-mended china. 

From the moment Ichabod 
laid his eyes upon these re- 
gions of delight, the peace of 
his mind was at an end, and 
his only study was how to gain 
the affections of the peerless 
daughter of Van Tassel. In 
this enterprise, however, he 
had more real difficulties than 
generally fell to the lot of a 
knight errant of yore, who 
seldom had anything but 
giants, enchanters, fiery drag- 
ons, and such like easily con- 
quered adversaries, to contend 
with; and had to make his way 
merely through gates of iron 
and brass, and walls of ada- 
mant, to the castle keep, where 
the lady of his heart was con- 
fined; all which he achieved as 
easily as a man would carve 
his way to the center of a 



Christmas pie; and then the 
lady gave him her hand as a 
matter of course. Ichabod, 
on the contrary, had to win 
his way to the heart of a 
country coquette, beset with 
a labyrinth of whims and ca- 
prices, which were forever 
presenting new difficulties and 
impediments; and he had to 
encounter a host of fearful 
adversaries of real flesh and 
blood, the numerous rustic 
admirers, who beset every 
portal to her heart; keeping a 
watchful and angry eye upon 
each other, but ready to fly 
out in the common cause 
against any new competitor. 

Among these the most for- 
midable was a burly, roaring, 
roistering blade, of the name 
of Abraham, or, according to 
the Dutch abbreviation, Brom 
Van Brunt, the hero of the 
country round, which rang 



with his feats of strength and 
hardihood. He was broad- 
shouldered and double-jointed, 
with short, curly black hair, 
and a bluff but not unpleasant 
countenance, having a mingled 
air of fun and arrogance. 
From his Herculean frame 
and great powers of limb, he 
had received the nickname of 
Brom Bones, by which he was 
universally known. He was 
famed for great knowledge 
and skill in horsemanship, 
being as dexterous on horse- 
back as a Tartar. He was 
foremost at all races and cock- 
fights; and, with the ascen- 
dancy which bodily strength 
acquires in rustic life, was 
the umpire in all disputes, set- 
ting his hat on one side, and 
giving his decisions with an air 
and tone admitting of no gain- 
say or appeal. He was always 
ready for either a fight or a 

90 



frolic; but had more mischief 
than ill will in his composition; 
and, with all his overbearing 
roughness, there was a strong 
dash of waggish good humor 
at the bottom. He had three 
or four boon companions, who 
regarded him as their model, 
and at the head of whom he 
scoured the country, attending 
every scene of feud or merri- 
ment for miles round. In cold 
weather he was distinguished 
by a fur cap, surmounted with 
a flaunting fox's tail ; and when 
the folks at a country gather- 
ing descried this well-known 
crest at a distance, whisking 
about among a squad of hard 
riders, they always stood by for 
a squall. Sometimes his crew 
would be heard dashing along 
past the farm-houses at mid- 
night, with whoop and halloo, 
like a troop of Don Cossacks; 
and the old dames, startled 

91 



out of their sleep, would listen 
for a moment till the hurry- 
skurry had clattered by, and 
then exclaim, "Aye, there goes 
Brom Bones and his gang!" 
The neighbors looked upon 
him with a mixture of awe, 
admiration, and good will; and 
when any madcap prank, or 
rustic brawl, occurred in the 
vicinity, always shook their 
heads, and warranted Brom 
Bones was at the bottom of it. 
This rantipole hero had for 
some time singled out the 
blooming Katrina for the ob- 
ject of his uncouth gallantries; 
and though his amorous toy- 
ings were something like the 
gentle caresses and endear- 
ments of a bear, yet it was 
whispered that she did not 
altogether discourage his 
hopes. Certain it is, his ad- 
vances were signals for rival 
candidates to retire, who felt 



no inclination to cross a lion 
in his amours; insomuch, that, 
when his horse was seen tied 
to Van Tassel's paling on a 
Sunday night, a sure sign that 
his master was courting, or, 
as it is termed, "sparking," 
within, all other suitors passed 
by in despair, and carried the 
war into other quarters. 

Such was the formidable 
rival with whom Ichabod 
Crane had to contend, and, 
considering all things, a 
stouter man than he would 
have shrunk from the com- 
petition, and a wiser man 
would have despaired. He 
had, however, a happy mix- 
ture of pliability and per- 
severance in his nature; he 
was in form and spirit like 
a supple-jack — yielding, but 
tough; though he bent, he 
never broke; and though he 
bowed beneath the slightest 

93 



pressure, yet, the moment it 
was away— jerk! he was as 
erect, and carried his head as 
high as ever. 

To have taken the field 
openly against his rival would 
have been madness; for he 
was not a man to be thwarted 
in his amours, any more than 
that stormy lover, Achilles. 
Ichabod, therefore, made his 
advances in a quiet and gently 
insinuating manner. Under 
cover of his character of sing- 
ing-master, he had made fre- 
quent visits at the farm-house; 
not that he had anything to ap- 
prehend from the meddlesome 
interference of parents, which 
is so often a stumbling-block 
in the path of lovers. Bait 
Van Tassel was an easy, indul- 
gent soul; he loved his daugh- 
ter better even than his pipe, 
and, like a reasonable man and 
an excellent father, let her 

94 



have her way in everything. 
His notable little wife, too, had 
enough to do to attend to her 
housekeeping and manage her 
poultry; for, as she sagely ob- 
served, ducks and geese are 
foolish things, and must be 
looked after, but girls can take 
care of themselves. Thus 
while the busy dame bustled 
about the house, or plied her 
spinning-wheel at one end of 
the piazza, honest Bait would 
sit smoking his evening pipe 
at the other, watching the 
achievements of a little 
wooden warrior, who, armed 
with a sword in each hand, 
was most valiantly fighting 
the wind on the pinnacle of 
the barn. In the mean time, 
Ichabod would carry on his 
suit with the daughter by the 
side of the spring under the 
great elm, or sauntering along 
in the twilight,— that hour so 

95 



favorable to the lover's elo- 
quence. 

I profess not to know how 
women's hearts are wooed and 
won. To me they have always 
been matters of riddle and ad- 
miration. Some seem to have 
but one vulnerable point or 
door of access, while others 
have a thousand avenues, and 
may be captured in a thousand 
different ways. It is a great 
triumph of skill to gain the 
former, but a still greater 
proof of generalship to main- 
tain possession of the latter, 
for the man must battle for his 
fortress at every door and 
window. He who wins a thou- 
sand common hearts is there- 
fore entitled to some renown; 
but he who keeps undisputed 
sway over the heart of a co- 
quette is indeed a hero. Cer- 
tain it is, this was not the case 
with the redoubtable Brom 



Bones; and from the moment 
Ichabod Crane made his ad- 
vances, the interests of the 
former evidently declined; his 
horse was no longer seen tied 
at the palings on Sunday 
nights, and a deadly feud 
gradually arose between him 
and the preceptor of Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Brom, who had a degree of 
rough chivalry in his nature, 
would fain have carried mat- 
ters to open warfare, and have 
settled their pretensions to 
the lady according to the 
mode of those most concise 
and simple reasoners, the 
knights errant of yore— by 
single combat; but Ichabod 
was too conscious of the supe- 
rior might of his adversary to 
enter the lists against him: he 
had overheard a boast of 
Bones, that he would " double 
the schoolmaster up, and lay 

7 97 



him on a shelf of his own 
school-house "; and he was too 
wary to give him an opportu- 
nity. There was something 
extremely provoking in this 
obstinately pacific system; it 
left Brom no alternative but 
to draw upon the funds of 
rustic waggery in his disposi- 
tion, and to play off boorish 
practical jokes upon his rival. 
Ichabod became the object 
of whimsical persecution to 
Bones and his gang of rough 
riders. They harried his 
hitherto peaceful domains; 
smoked out his singing-school, 
by stopping up the chimney; 
broke into the school-house at 
night, in spite of its formida- 
ble fastenings of withe and 
window-stakes, and turned 
everything topsy-turvy: so that 
the poor schoolmaster began 
to think all the witches in the 
country held their meetings 



there. But what was still 
more annoying, Brom took 
opportunities of turning him 
into ridicule in presence of 
his mistress, and had a scoun- 
drel dog whom he taught to 
whine in the most ludicrous 
manner, and introduced as a 
rival of Ichabod's to instruct 
her in psalmody. 

In this way matters went on 
for some time, without pro- 
ducing any material effect on 
the relative situation of the 
contending powers. On a fine 
autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, 
in pensive mood, sat enthroned 
on the lofty stool whence he 
usually watched all the con- 
cerns of his little literary 
realm. In his hand he swayed 
a ferule, that scepter of des- 
potic power; the birch of jus- 
tice reposed on three nails, 
behind the throne, a constant 
terror to evil-doers; while on 



the desk before him might be 
seen sundry contraband arti- 
cles and prohibited weapons, 
detected upon the persons of 
idle urchins; such as half- 
munched apples, pop-guns, 
whirligigs, fly-cages, and 
whole legions of rampant 
little paper game-cocks. Ap- 
parently there had been some 
appalling act of justice re- 
cently inflicted, for his schol- 
ars were all busily intent upon 
their books, or slyly whispering 
behind them with one eye kept 
upon the master; and a kind 
of buzzing stillness reigned 
throughout the school-room. 
It was suddenly interrupted 
by the appearance of a negro, 
in tow-cloth jacket and trou- 
sers, a round-crowned frag- 
ment of a hat, like the cap of 
Mercury, and mounted on the 
back of a ragged, wild, half- 
broken colt, which he managed 
100 



with a rope by way of halter. 
He came clattering up to the 
school door with an invitation 
to Ichabod to attend a merry- 
making or " quilting frolic," to 
be held that evening at Myn- 
heer Van Tassel's; and having 
delivered his message with 
that air of importance, and 
effort at fine language, which 
a negro is apt to display on 
petty embassies of the kind, 
he dashed over the brook, and 
was seen scampering away up 
the Hollow, full of the impor- 
tance and hurry of his mission. 
All was now bustle and hub- 
bub in the late quiet school- 
room. The scholars were 
hurried through their lessons, 
without stopping at trifles; 
those who were nimble skipped 
over half with impunity, and 
those who were tardy had a 
smart application now and 
then in the rear, to quicken 
101 



their speed, or help them over 
a tall word. Books were flung 
aside without being put away 
on the shelves, inkstands were 
overturned, benches thrown 
down, and the whole school 
was turned loose an hour be- 
fore the usual time, bursting 
forth like a legion of young 
imps, yelping and racketing 
about the green, in joy at their 
early emancipation. 

The gallant Ichabod now 
spent at least an extra half- 
hour at his toilet, brushing 
and furbishing up his best 
and indeed only suit of rusty 
black, and arranging his locks 
by a bit of broken looking- 
glass, that hung up in the 
school-house. That he might 
make his appearance before 
his mistress in the true style 
of a cavalier, he borrowed a 
horse from the farmer with 
whom he was domiciliated, a 

102 



choleric old Dutchman, of the 
name of Hans Van Ripper, 
and, thus gallantly mounted, 
issued forth, like a knight 
errant in quest of adventures. 
But it is meet I should, in the 
true spirit of romantic story, 
give some account of the looks 
and equipments of my hero and 
his steed. The animal he be- 
strode was a broken-down 
plow-horse, that had outlived 
almost everything but his vi- 
ciousness. He was gaunt and 
shagged, with a ewe neck and a 
head like a hammer; his rusty 
mane and tail were tangled 
and knotted with burs; one eye 
had lost its pupil, and was 
glaring and spectral; but the 
other had the gleam of a genu- 
ine devil in it. Still he must 
have had fire and mettle in his 
day, if we may judge from 
the name he bore of Gun- 
powder. He had, in fact, 

103 



been a favorite steed of his 
master's, the choleric Van 
Ripper, who was a furious 
rider, and had infused, very 
probably, some of his own 
spirit into the animal; for, old 
and broken-down as he looked, 
there was more of the lurking 
devil in him than in any young 
filly in the country. 

Ichabod was a suitable figure 
for such a steed. He rode 
with short stirrups, which 
brought his knees nearly up 
to the pommel of the saddle; 
his sharp elbows stuck out like 
grasshoppers'; he carried his 
whip perpendicularly in his 
hand, like a scepter, and, as 
his horse jogged on, the mo- 
tion of his arms was not unlike 
the flapping of a pair of wings. 
A small wool hat rested on the 
top of his nose, for so his 
scanty strip of forehead might 
be called; and the skirts of his 

104 



black coat fluttered out almost 
to the horse's tail. Such was 
the appearance of Ichabod and 
his steed, as they shambled out 
of the gate of Hans Van Rip- 
per, and it was altogether such 
an apparition as is seldom to 
be met with in broad daylight. 
It was, as I have said, a fine 
autumnal day, the sky was 
clear and serene, and nature 
wore that rich and golden 
livery which we always asso- 
ciate with the idea of abun- 
dance. The forests had put 
on their sober brown and yel- 
low, while some trees of the 
tenderer kind had been nipped 
by the frosts into brilliant 
dyes of orange, purple, and 
scarlet. Streaming files of 
wild ducks began to make 
their appearance high in the 
air; the bark of the squirrel 
might be heard from the 
groves of beech- and hickory- 



nuts, and the pensive whistle 
of the quail at intervals from 
the neighboring stubble-field. 
The small birds were taking 
their farewell banquets. In 
the fullness of their revelry, 
they fluttered, chirping and 
frolicking, from bush to bush, 
and tree to tree, capricious 
from the very profusion and 
variety around them. There 
was the honest cock-robin, the 
favorite game of stripling 
sportsmen, with its loud quer- 
ulous notes; and the twitter- 
ing blackbirds flying in sable 
clouds; and the golden-winged 
woodpecker, with his crimson 
crest, his broad black gorget, 
and splendid plumage; and the 
cedar-bird, with its red-tipped 
wings and yellow-tipped tail, 
and its little monteiro-cap of 
feathers; and the blue jay, 
that noisy coxcomb, in his 
gay light-blue coat and white 

106 



underclothes, screaming and 
chattering, nodding and bob- 
bing and bowing, and pretend- 
ing to be on good terms with 
every songster of the grove. 

As Ichabod jogged slowly 
on his way, his eye, ever open 
to every symptom of culinary 
abundance, ranged with de- 
light over the treasures of 
jolly autumn. On all sides 
he beheld vast store of ap- 
ples; some hanging in oppres- 
sive opulence on the trees; 
some gathered into baskets 
and barrels for the market; 
others heaped up in rich piles 
for the cider-press. Farther 
on he beheld great fields of 
Indian corn, with its golden 
ears peeping from their leafy 
coverts, and holding out the 
promise of cakes and hasty- 
pudding; and the yellow pump- 
kins lying beneath them, turn- 
ing up their fair round bellies 

107 



to the sun, and giving ample 
prospects of the most luxuri- 
ous of pies; and anon he passed 
the fragrant buckwheat-fields, 
breathing the odor of the bee- 
hive, and as he beheld them, 
soft anticipations stole over 
his mind of dainty slapjacks, 
well buttered, and garnished 
with honey or treacle, by the 
delicate little dimpled hand of 
Katrina Van Tassel. 

Thus feeding his mind with 
many sweet thoughts and " su- 
gared suppositions," he jour- 
neyed along the sides of a range 
of hills which look out upon 
some of the goodliest scenes of 
the mighty Hudson. The sun 
gradually wheeled his broad 
disk down into the west. The 
wide bosom of the Tappan Zee 
lay motionless and glassy, ex- 
cepting that here and there a 
gentle undulation waved and 
prolonged the blue shadow of 



the distant mountain. A few 
amber clouds floated in the 
sky, without a breath of air to 
move them. The horizon was 
of a fine golden tint, changing 
gradually into a pure apple- 
green, and from that into the 
deep blue of the mid-heaven. 
A slanting ray lingered on 
the woody crests of the pre- 
cipices that overhung some 
parts of the river, giving 
greater depth to the dark gray 
and purple of their rocky sides. 
A sloop was loitering in the 
distance, dropping slowly down 
with the tide, her sail hanging 
uselessly against the mast; and 
as the reflection of the sky 
gleamed along the still water, 
it seemed as if the vessel was 
suspended in the air. 

It was toward evening that 
Ichabod arrived at the castle 
of the Heer Van Tassel, which 
he found thronged with the 

109 



pride and flower of the adja- 
cent country. Old farmers, a 
spare leathern-faced race, in 
homespun coats and breeches, 
blue stockings, huge shoes, and 
magnificent pewter buckles. 
Their brisk withered little 
dames, in close crimped caps, 
long-waisted short gowns, 
homespun petticoats, with 
scissors and pincushions, and 
gay calico pockets hanging on 
the outside. Buxom lasses, 
almost as antiquated as their 
mothers, excepting where a 
straw hat, a fine ribbon, or 
perhaps a white frock, gave 
symptoms of city innovation. 
The sons, in short square- 
skirted coats with rows of 
stupendous brass buttons, and 
their hair generally queued in 
the fashion of the times, espe- 
cially if they could procure 
an eelskin for the purpose, it 
being esteemed, throughout 






the country, as a potent nour- 
isher and strengthener of the 
hair. 

Brom Bones, however, was 
the hero of the scene, having 
come to the gathering on his 
favorite steed, Daredevil, a 
creature, like himself, full of 
mettle and mischief, and which 
no one but himself could man- 
age. He was, in fact, noted 
for preferring vicious animals, 
given to all kinds of tricks, 
which kept the rider in con- 
stant risk of his neck, for he 
held a tractable well-broken 
horse as unworthy of a lad of 
spirit. 

Fain would I pause to dwell 
upon the world of charms that 
burst upon the enraptured gaze 
of my hero, as he entered the 
state parlor of Van Tassel's 
mansion. Not those of the 
bevy of buxom lasses, with 
their luxurious display of red 
in 



and white; but the ample 
charms of a genuine Dutch 
country tea-table, in the sump- 
tuous time of autumn. Such 
heaped-up platters of cakes of 
various and almost indescrib- 
able kinds, known only to ex- 
perienced Dutch housewives! 
There was the doughty dough- 
nut, the tenderer oly-koek, and 
the crisp and crumbling crul- 
ler; sweet cakes and short 
cakes, ginger cakes and honey 
cakes, and the whole family of 
cakes. And then there were 
apple-pies and peach-pies and 
pumpkin-pies; besides slices of 
ham and smoked beef; and 
moreover delectable dishes of 
preserved plums, and peaches, 
and pears, and quinces; not 
to mention broiled shad and 
roasted chickens; together 
with bowls of milk and cream, 
all mingled higgledy-piggledy, 
pretty much as I have enumer- 



ated them, with the motherly 
tea-pot sending up its clouds of 
vapor from the midst— Heaven 
bless the mark ! I want breath 
and time to discuss this ban- 
quet as it deserves, and am too 
eager to get on with my story. 
Happily, Ichabod Crane was 
not in so great a hurry as his 
historian, but did ample justice 
to every dainty. 

He was a kind and thankful 
creature, whose heart dilated 
in proportion as his skin was 
filled with good cheer; and 
whose spirits rose with eating 
as some men's do with drink. 
He could not help, too, rolling 
his large eyes round him as he 
ate, and chuckling with the 
possibility that he might one 
day be lord of all this scene of 
almost unimaginable luxury 
and splendor. Then, he 
thought, how soon he 'd turn 
his back upon the old school- 

8 113 



house; snap his fingers in the 
face of Hans Van Ripper, and 
every other niggardly patron, 
and kick any itinerant peda- 
gogue out of doors that should 
dare to call him comrade! 

Old Baltus Van Tassel 
moved about among his 
guests with a face dilated 
with content and good humor, 
round and jolly as the harvest 
moon. His hospitable atten- 
tions were brief, but expres- 
sive, being confined to a shake 
of the hand, a slap on the 
shoulder, a loud laugh, and a 
pressing invitation to " fall to, 
and help themselves." 

And now the sound of the 
music from the common room, 
or hall, summoned to the 
dance. The musician was an 
old gray-headed negro, who 
had been the itinerant or- 
chestra of the neighborhood 
for more than half a century. 



His instrument was as old and 
battered as himself. The 
greater part of the time he 
scraped on two or three 
strings, accompanying every 
movement of the bow with a 
motion of the head; bowing 
almost to the ground, and 
stamping with his foot when- 
ever a fresh couple were to 
start. 

Ichabod prided himself upon 
his dancing as much as upon 
his vocal powers. Not a 
limb, not a fiber about him 
was idle; and to have seen his 
loosely hung frame in full 
motion, and clattering about 
the room, you would have 
thought St. Vitus himself, 
that blessed patron of the 
dance, was figuring before you 
in person. He was the admira- 
tion of all the negroes; who, 
having gathered, of all ages 
and sizes, from the farm and 

115 



the neighborhood, stood form- 
ing a pyramid of shining black 
faces at every door and win- 
dow, gazing with delight at 
the scene, rolling their white 
eyeballs, and showing grin- 
ning rows of ivory from ear to 
ear. How could the flogger 
of urchins be otherwise than 
animated and joyous? the lady 
of his heart was his partner in 
the dance, and smiling gra- 
ciously in reply to all his 
amorous oglings; while Brom 
Bones, sorely smitten with 
love and jealousy, sat brood- 
ing by himself in one corner. 

When the dance was at an 
end, Ichabod was attracted to 
a knot of the sager folks, who, 
with old Van Tassel, sat smok- 
ing at one end of the piazza, 
gossiping over former times, 
and drawing out long stories 
about the war. 

This neighborhood, at the 



time of which I am speaking, 
was one of those highly fa- 
vored places which abound 
with chronicle and great 
men. The British and Ameri- 
can line had run near it during 
the war; it had, therefore, been 
the scene of marauding, and 
infested with refugees, cow- 
boys, and all kinds of border 
chivalry. Just sufficient time 
has elapsed to enable each 
story-teller to dress up his 
tale with a little becoming 
fiction, and, in the indistinct- 
ness of his recollection, to 
make himself the hero of every 
exploit. 

There was the story of 
Doffue Martling, a large blue- 
bearded Dutchman, who had 
nearly taken a British frigate 
with an old iron nine-pounder 
from a mud breastwork, only 
that his gun burst at the sixth 
discharge. And there was an 



old gentleman who shall be 
nameless, being too rich a 
mynheer to be lightly men- 
tioned, who, in the battle of 
White Plains, being an ex- 
cellent master of defense, par- 
ried a musket-ball with a small 
sword, insomuch that he abso- 
lutely felt it whizz round the 
blade, and glance off at the 
hilt; in proof of which he was 
ready at any time to show the 
sword, with the hilt a little 
bent. There were several 
more that had been equally 
great in the field, not one of 
whom but was persuaded that 
he had a considerable hand in 
bringing the war to a happy 
termination. 

But all these were nothing 
to the tales of ghosts and appa- 
ritions that succeeded. The 
neighborhood is rich in legen- 
dary treasures of the kind. 
Local tales and superstitions 

118 



thrive best in these sheltered 
long-settled retreats; but are 
trampled underfoot by the 
shifting throng that forms the 
population of most of our coun- 
try places. Besides, there is 
no encouragement for ghosts 
in most of our villages, for 
they have scarcely had time to 
finish their first nap and turn 
themselves in their graves be- 
fore their surviving friends 
have traveled away from the 
neighborhood; so that when 
they turn out at night to walk 
their rounds, they have no ac- 
quaintance left to call upon. 
This is perhaps the reason why 
we so seldom hear of ghosts, 
except in our long-established 
Dutch communities. 

The immediate cause, how- 
ever, of the prevalence of su- 
pernatural stories in these 
parts was doubtless owing to 
the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. 

119 



There was a contagion in the 
very air that blew from that 
haunted region; it breathed 
forth an atmosphere of dreams 
and fancies infecting all the 
land. Several of the Sleepy- 
Hollow people were present at 
Van Tassel's, and, as usual, 
were doling out their wild and 
wonderful legends. Many 
dismal tales were told about 
funeral trains, and mourning 
cries and waitings heard and 
seen about the great tree 
where the unfortunate Major 
Andre was taken, and which 
stood in the neighborhood. 
Some mention was made also 
of the woman in white, that 
haunted the dark glen at 
Raven Rock, and was often 
heard to shriek on winter 
nights before a storm, having 
perished there in the snow. 
The chief part of the stories, 
however, turned upon the 
120 



favorite specter of Sleepy 
Hollow, the headless horse- 
man, who had been heard sev- 
eral times of late, patrolling 
the country; and, it was said, 
tethered his horse nightly 
among the graves in the 
churchyard. 

The sequestered situation of 
this church seems always to 
have made it a favorite haunt 
of troubled spirits. It stands 
on a knoll, surrounded by lo- 
cust-trees and lofty elms, from 
among which its decent white- 
washed walls shine modestly 
forth, like Christian purity 
beaming through the shades 
of retirement. A gentle slope 
descends from it to a silver 
sheet of water, bordered by 
high trees, between which, 
peeps may be caught at the 
blue hills of the Hudson. To 
look upon its grass-grown 
yard, where the sunbeams 

121 



seem to sleep so quietly, one 
would think that there at least 
the dead might rest in peace. 
On one side of the church ex- 
tends a wide woody dell, along 
which raves a large brook 
among broken rocks and 
trunks of fallen trees. Over 
a deep black part of the 
stream, not far from the 
church, was formerly thrown 
a wooden bridge ; the road that 
led to it, and the bridge itself, 
were thickly shaded by over- 
hanging trees, which cast a 
gloom about it, even in the 
daytime, but occasioned a 
fearful darkness at night. 
This was one of the favorite 
haunts of the headless horse- 
man; and the place where he 
was most frequently encoun- 
tered. The tale was told of 
old Brouwer, a most heretical 
disbeliever in ghosts, how he 
met the horseman returning 

122 



from his foray into Sleepy 
Hollow, and was obliged to 
get up behind him; how they 
galloped over bush and brake, 
over hill and swamp, until they 
reached the bridge; when the 
horseman suddenly turned into 
a skeleton, threw old Brouwer 
into the brook, and sprang 
away over the tree-tops with 
a clap of thunder. 

This story was immediately 
matched by a thrice marvel- 
ous adventure of Brom Bones, 
who made light of the Gallop- 
ing Hessian as an arrant 
jockey. He affirmed that, on 
returning one night from the 
neighboring village of Sing 
Sing, he had been overtaken 
by this midnight trooper; that 
he had offered to race with 
him for a bowl of punch, and 
should have won it too, for 
Daredevil beat the goblin 
horse all hollow, but, just as 

123 



they came to the church 
bridge, the Hessian bolted, 
and vanished in a flash of fire. 

All these tales, told in that 
drowsy undertone with which 
men talk in the dark, the 
countenances of the listeners 
only now and then receiving a 
casual gleam from the glare 
of a pipe, sank deep in the 
mind of Ichabod. He repaid 
them in kind with large ex- 
tracts from his invaluable 
author, Cotton Mather, and 
added many marvelous events 
that had taken place in his 
native State of Connecticut, 
and fearful sights which he 
had seen in his nightly walks 
about the Sleepy Hollow. 

The revel now gradually 
broke up. The old farmers 
gathered together their fami- 
lies in their wagons, and were 
heard for some time rattling 
along the hollow roads, and 

124 



over the distant hills. Some 
of the damsels mounted on 
pillions behind their favorite 
swains, and their light-hearted 
laughter, mingling with the 
clatter of hoofs, echoed along 
the silent woodlands, sounding 
fainter and fainter until they 
gradually died away— and the 
late scene of noise and frolic 
was all silent and deserted. 
Ichabod only lingered behind, 
according to the custom of 
country lovers, to have a tete- 
a-tete with the heiress, fully 
convinced that he was now 
on the highroad to success. 
What passed at this interview 
I will not pretend to say, for 
in fact I do not know. Some- 
thing, however, I fear me, 
must have gone wrong, for he 
certainly sallied forth, after 
no very great interval, with- 
an air quite desolate and chap- 
fallen.— Oh, these women! 

125 



these women! Could that girl 
have been playing off any of 
her coquettish tricks?— Was 
her encouragement of the 
poor pedagogue all a mere 
sham to secure her conquest 
of his rival?— Heaven only 
knows, not I!— Let it suffice 
to say, Ichabod stole forth 
with the air of one who had 
been sacking a hen-roost, 
rather than a fair lady's heart. 
Without looking to the right 
or left to notice the scene of 
rural wealth on which he had 
so often gloated, he went 
straight to the stable, and 
with several hearty cuffs and 
kicks roused his steed most 
uncourteously from the com- 
fortable quarters in which he 
was soundly sleeping, dream- 
ing of mountains of corn and 
oats, and whole valleys of 
timothy and clover. 

It was the very witching 



time of night that Ichabod, 
heavy-hearted and crestfallen, 
pursued his travels home- 
ward, along the sides of the 
lofty hills which rise above 
Tarry Town, and which he had 
traversed so cheerily in the 
afternoon. The hour was as 
dismal as himself. Far below 
him, the Tappan Zee spread its 
dusky and indistinct waste of 
waters, with here and there 
the tall mast of a sloop riding 
quietly at anchor under the 
land. In the dead hush of 
midnight he could even hear 
the barking of the watch-dog 
from the opposite shore of the 
Hudson; but it was so vague 
and faint as only to give an 
idea of his distance from this 
faithful companion of man. 
Now and then, too, the long- 
drawn crowing of a cock, ac- 
cidentally awakened, would 
sound far, far off, from some 

127 



farm-house away among the 
hills— but it was like a dream- 
ing sound in his ear. No signs 
of life occurred near him, but 
occasionally the melancholy 
chirp of a cricket, or perhaps 
the guttural twang of a bull- 
frog, from a neighboring 
marsh, as if sleeping uncom- 
fortably, and turning suddenly 
in his bed. 

All the stories of ghosts and 
goblins that he had heard in 
the afternoon now came crowd- 
ing upon his recollection. The 
night grew darker and darker; 
the stars seemed to sink deeper 
in the sky, and driving clouds 
occasionally hid them from his 
sight. He had never felt so 
lonely and dismal. He was, 
moreover, approaching the 
very place where many of the 
scenes of the ghost-stories had 
been laid. In the center of 
the road stood an enormous 

128 



tulip-tree, which towered like 
a giant above all the other 
trees of the neighborhood, and 
formed a kind of landmark. 
Its limbs were gnarled and 
fantastic, large enough to 
form trunks for ordinary 
trees, twisting down almost to 
the earth, and rising again into 
the air. It was connected 
with the tragical story of the 
unfortunate Andre, who had 
been taken prisoner hard by; 
and was universally known by 
the name of Major Andre's 
tree. The common people re- 
garded it with a mixture of 
respect and superstition, partly 
out of sympathy for the fate 
of its ill-starred namesake, 
and partly from the tales of 
strange sights and doleful 
lamentations told concerning 
it. 

As Ichabod approached this 
fearful tree, he began to whis- 

9 129 



tie: he thought his whistle was 
answered,— it was but a blast 
sweeping sharply through the 
dry branches. As he ap- 
proached a little nearer, he 
thought he saw something 
white, hanging in the midst 
of the tree,— he paused, and 
ceased whistling; but on look- 
ing more narrowly, perceived 
that it was a place where the 
tree had been scathed by 
lightning, and the white wood 
laid bare. Suddenly he heard 
a groan,— his teeth chattered, 
and his knees smote against 
the saddle: it was but the rub- 
bing of one huge bough upon 
another, as they were swayed 
about by the breeze. He 
passed the tree in safety; but 
new perils lay before him. 

About two hundred yards 
from the tree a small brook 
crossed the road, and ran into 
a marshy and thickly wooded 

130 



glen, known by the name of 
Wiley's Swamp. A few rough 
logs, laid side by side, served 
for a bridge over this stream. 
On that side of the road where 
the brook entered the wood, 
a group of oaks and chest- 
nuts, matted thick with wild 
grape-vines, threw a cavernous 
gloom over it. To pass this 
bridge was the severest trial. 
It was at this identical spot 
that the unfortunate Andre 
was captured, and under the 
covert of those chestnuts and 
vines were the sturdy yeomen 
concealed who surprised him. 
This has ever since been con- 
sidered a haunted stream, and 
fearful are the feelings of the 
school-boy who has to pass it 
alone after dark. 

As he approached the 
stream, his heart began to 
thump; he summoned up, how- 
ever, all his resolution, gave his 



horse half a score of kicks in 
the ribs, and attempted to dash 
briskly across the bridge; but 
instead of starting forward, 
the perverse old animal made 
a lateral movement, and ran 
broadside against the fence. 
Ichabod, whose fears increased 
with the delay, jerked the reins 
on the other side, and kicked 
lustily with the contrary foot: 
it was all in vain; his steed 
started, it is true, but it was 
only to plunge to the opposite 
side of the road into a thicket 
of brambles and alder-bushes. 
The schoolmaster now be- 
stowed both whip and heel 
upon the starveling ribs of old 
Gunpowder, who dashed for- 
ward, snuffling and snorting, 
but came to a stand just by 
the bridge, with a suddenness 
that had nearly sent his rider 
sprawling over his head. Just 
at this moment a plashy tramp 

132 



by the side of the bridge 
caught the sensitive ear of 
Ichabod. In the dark shadow 
of the grove, on the margin of 
the brook, he beheld something 
huge, misshapen, black, and 
towering. It stirred not, but 
seemed gathered up in the 
gloom, like some gigantic mon- 
ster ready to spring upon the 
traveler. 

The hair of the affrighted 
pedagogue rose upon his head 
with terror. What was to be 
done? To turn and fly was 
now too late ; and besides, what 
chance was there of escaping 
ghost or goblin, if such it was, 
which could ride upon the 
wings of the wind ? Summon- 
ing up, therefore, a show of 
courage, he demanded in stam- 
mering accents— "Who are 
you?" He received no reply. 
He repeated his demand in a 
still more agitated voice. Still 



there was no answer. Once 
more he cudgeled the sides of 
the inflexible Gunpowder, and, 
shutting his eyes, broke forth 
with involuntary fervor into 
a psalm-tune. Just then the 
shadowy object of alarm put 
itself in motion, and, with a 
scramble and a bound, stood 
at once in the middle of the 
road. Though the night was 
dark and dismal, yet the form 
of the unknown might now in 
some degree be ascertained. 
He appeared to be a horseman 
of large dimensions, and 
mounted on a black horse of 
powerful frame. He made no 
offer of molestation or socia- 
bility, but kept aloof on one 
side of the road, jogging along 
on the blind side of old Gun- 
powder, who had now got over 
his fright and waywardness. 

Icnabod, who had no relish 
for this strange midnight com- 

134 



panion, and bethought himself 
of the adventure of Brom 
Bones with the Galloping 
Hessian, now quickened his 
steed, in hopes of leaving him 
behind. The stranger, how- 
ever, quickened his horse to 
an equal pace. Ichabod pulled 
up, and fell into a walk, think- 
ing to lag behind, — the other 
did the same. His heart began 
to sink within him; he endea- 
vored to resume his psalm-tune, 
but his parched tongue clove 
to the roof of his mouth, and 
he could not utter a stave. 
There was something in the 
moody and dogged silence of 
this pertinacious companion, 
that was mysterious and ap- 
palling. It was soon fearfully 
accounted for. On mounting 
a rising ground, which brought 
the figure of his fellow-trav- 
eler in relief against the sky, 
gigantic in height, and muffled 



in a cloak, Ichabod was hor- 
ror-struck, on perceiving that 
he was headless!— but his hor- 
ror was still more increased, on 
observing that the head, which 
should have rested on his 
shoulders, was carried before 
him on the pommel of the sad- 
dle: his terror rose to despera- 
tion; he rained a shower of 
kicks and blows upon Gunpow- 
der, hoping, by a sudden move- 
ment, to give his companion 
theslip, — but the specterstart- 
ed full jump with him. Away- 
then they dashed, through 
thick and thin; stones flying, 
and sparks flashing at every 
bound. Ichabod's flimsy gar- 
ments fluttered in the air, as 
he stretched his long lank 
body away over his horse's 
head, in the eagerness of his 
flight. 

They had now reached the 
road which turns off to Sleepy 

136 



Hollow; but Gunpowder, who 
seemed possessed with a 
demon, instead of keeping up 
it, made an opposite turn, and 
plunged headlong downhill to 
the left. This road leads 
through a sandy hollow, 
shaded by trees for about a 
quarter of a mile, where it 
crosses the bridge famous in 
goblin story, and just beyond 
swells the green knoll on 
which stands the whitewashed 
church. 

As yet the panic of the 
steed had given his unskilful 
rider an apparent advantage 
in the chase; but just as he 
had got half-way through the 
hollow, the girths of the sad- 
dle gave way, and he felt it 
slipping from under him. He 
seized it by the pommel, and 
endeavored to hold it firm, but 
in vain; and had just time to 
save himself by clasping old 



Gunpowder round the neck, 
when the saddle fell to the 
earth, and he heard it tram- 
pled underfoot by his pursuer. 
For a moment, the terror of 
Hans Van Ripper's wrath 
passed across his mind— for it 
was his Sunday saddle; but 
this was no time for petty 
fears; the goblin was hard on 
his haunches; and (unskilful 
rider that he was!) he had 
much ado to maintain his seat; 
sometimes slipping on one 
side, sometimes on another, 
and sometimes jolted on the 
high ridge of his horse's back- 
bone, with a violence that he 
verily feared would cleave him 
asunder. 

An opening in the trees now 
cheered him with the hopes 
that the church-bridge was at 
hand. The wavering reflection 
of a silver star in the bosom 
of the brook told him that he 



was not mistaken. He saw 
the walls of the church dimly 
glaring under the trees beyond. 
He recollected the place where 
Brom Bones's ghostly competi- 
tor had disappeared. "If I 
can but reach that bridge," 
thought Ichabod, " I am safe." 
Just then he heard the black 
steed panting and blowing 
close behind him; he even 
fancied that he felt his hot 
breath. Another convulsive 
kick in the ribs, and old Gun- 
powder sprang upon the 
bridge; he thundered over the 
resounding planks; he gained 
the opposite side; and now 
Ichabod cast a look behind to 
see if his pursuer should van- 
ish, according to rule, in a 
flash of fire and brimstone. 
Just then he saw the goblin 
rising in his stirrups, and in 
the very act of hurling his 
head at him. Ichabod endea- 



vored to dodge the horrible 
missile, but too late. It en- 
countered his cranium with a 
tremendous crash,— he was 
tumbled headlong into the 
dust, and Gunpowder, the 
black steed, and the goblin 
rider, passed by like a whirl- 
wind. 

The next morning the old 
horse was found without his 
saddle, and with the bridle 
under his feet, soberly crop- 
ping the grass at his master's 
gate. Ichabod did not make 
his appearance at breakfast; 
—dinner-hour came, but no 
Ichabod. The boys assembled 
at the school-house, and 
strolled idly about the banks 
of the brook; but no school- 
master. Hans Van Ripper 
now began to feel some un- 
easiness about the fate of poor 
Ichabod, and his saddle. An 
inquiry was set on foot, and 

140 



after diligent investigation 
they came upon his traces. In 
one part of the road leading 
to the church was found the 
saddle trampled in the dirt; 
the tracks of horses' hoofs 
deeply dented in the road, and 
evidently at furious speed, 
were traced to the bridge, be- 
yond which, on the bank of a 
broad part of the brook, where 
the water ran deep and black, 
was found the hat of the un- 
fortunate Ichabod, and close 
beside it a shattered pumpkin. 
The brook was searched, but 
the body of the schoolmaster 
was not to be discovered. 
Hans Van Ripper, as executor 
of his estate, examined the 
bundle which contained all his 
worldly effects. They con- 
sisted of two shirts and a half; 
two stocks for the neck, a pair 
or two of worsted stockings; 
an old pair of corduroy small- 



clothes; a rusty razor; a book 
of psalm-tunes, full of dog's- 
ears; and a broken pitch-pipe. 
As to the books and furniture 
of the school-house, they be- 
longed to the community, ex- 
cepting Cotton Mather's" His- 
tory of Witchcraft," a " New 
England Almanac," and a book 
of dreams and fortune-telling; 
in which last was a sheet of 
foolscap much scribbled and 
blotted in several fruitless at- 
tempts to make a copy of verses 
in honor of the heiress of Van 
Tassel. These magic books and 
the poetic scrawl were forth- 
with consigned to the flames by 
Hans Van Ripper; who from 
that time forward determined 
to send his children no more 
to school; observing, that he 
never knew any good come of 
this same reading and writing. 
Whatever money the school- 
master possessed, and he had 



received his quarter's pay but 
a day or two before, he must 
have had about his person at 
the time of his disappearance. 
The mysterious event caused 
much speculation at the church 
on the following Sunday. 
Knots of gazers and gossips 
were collected in the church- 
yard, at the bridge, and at the 
spot where the hat and pump- 
kin had been found. The 
stories of Brouwer, of Bones, 
and a whole budget of others, 
were called to mind; and when 
they had diligently considered 
them all, and compared them 
with the symptoms of the 
present case, they shook their 
heads, and came to the conclu- 
sion that Ichabod had been 
carried off by the Galloping 
Hessian. As he was a bach- 
elor, and in nobody's debt, 
nobody troubled his head any 
more about him. The school 



was removed to a different 
quarter of the Hollow, and 
another pedagogue reigned in 
his stead. 

It is true, an old farmer, 
who had been down to New 
York on a visit several years 
after, and from whom this 
account of the ghostly adven- 
ture was received, brought 
home the intelligence that 
Ichabod Crane was still alive; 
that he had left the neighbor- 
hood, partly through fear of 
the goblin and Hans Van Rip- 
per, and partly in mortification 
at having been suddenly dis- 
missed by the heiress; that he 
had changed his quarters to 
a distant part of the country; 
had kept school and studied 
law at the same time, had been 
admitted to the bar, turned 
politician, electioneered, writ- 
ten for the newspapers, and 
finally had been made a jus- 

144 



tice of the Ten-pound Court. 
Brom Bones too, who shortly 
after his rival's disappearance 
conducted the blooming Ka- 
trina in triumph to the altar, 
was observed to look exceed- 
ingly knowing whenever the 
story of Ichabod was related, 
and always burst into a hearty 
laugh at the mention of the 
pumpkin; which led some to 
suspect that he knew more 
about the matter than he 
chose to tell. 

The old country wives, how- 
ever, who are the best judges 
of these matters, maintain to 
this day that Ichabod was 
spirited away by supernatural 
means; and it is a favorite 
story often told about the 
neighborhood round the win- 
ter evening fire. The bridge 
became more than ever an 
object of superstitious awe, 
and that may be the reason 

10 145 



why the road has been altered 
of late years, so as to approach 
the church by the border of 
the mill-pond. The school- 
house, being deserted, soon fell 
to decay, and was reported to 
be haunted by the ghost of 
the unfortunate pedagogue; 
and the plow-boy, loitering 
homeward of a still summer 
evening, has often fancied his 
voice at a distance, chant- 
ing a melancholy psalm-tune, 
among the tranquil solitudes 
of Sleepy Hollow. 



POSTSCRIPT 

FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF 
MR. KNICKERBOCKER 

The preceding Tale is given, 
almost in the precise words in 
which I heard it related at a Cor- 
poration meeting of the ancient 

146 



city of Manhattoes, at which 
were present many of its sagest 
and most illustrious burghers. 
The narrator was a pleasant, 
shabby, gentlemanly old fellow, in 
pepper-and-salt clothes, with a 
sadly humorous face; and one 
whom I strongly suspected of 
being poor,— he made such 
efforts to be entertaining. When 
his story was concluded, there 
was much laughter and approba- 
tion, particularly from two or 
three deputy aldermen, who had 
been asleep the greater part of the 
time. There was, however, one 
tall, dry-looking old gentleman, 
with beetling eyebrows, who 
maintained a grave and rather 
severe face throughout; now and 
then folding his arms, inclining 
his head, and looking down upon 
the floor, as if turning a doubt 
over in his mind. He was one of 
your wary men, who never laugh, 
but on good grounds— when 
they have reason and the law on 
their side. When the mirth of the 
rest of the company had subsided 

147 



and silence was restored, he leaned 
one arm on the elbow of his chair, 
and sticking the other akimbo, de- 
manded, with a slight but exceed- 
ingly sage motion of the head, and 
contraction of the brow, what was 
the moral of the story, and what 
it went to prove? 

The story-teller, who was just 
putting a glass of wine to his lips, 
as a refreshment after his toils, 
paused for a moment, looked at his 
inquirer with an air of infinite def- 
erence, and, lowering the glass 
slowly to the table, observed, that 
the story was intended most logi- 
cally to prove: 

"There is no situation in life 
but has its advantages and plea- 
sures—provided we will but take 
a joke as we find it; 

"That, therefore, he that runs 
races with goblin troopers is 
likely to have rough riding of it. 

"Ergo, for a country school- 
master to be refused the hand of 
a Dutch heiress, is a certain step 
to high preferment in the state." 

The cautious old gentleman knit 

148 



Cft 8 < 



his brows tenfold closer after this 
explanation, being sorely puzzled 
by ratiocination of the syllogism; 
while, methought, the one in 
pepper-and-salt eyed him with 
something of a triumphant leer. 
At length he observed, that all 
this was very well, but still he 
thought the story a little on the 
extravagant— there were one or 
two points on which he had his 
doubts. 

"Faith, sir," replied the story- 
teller, "as to that matter, I don't 
believe one half of it myself." 
D. K. 



149 



** o Q '^5' .0 




0* -o V* 



K* 







IS V^'V 











DOBBS BROS. 

7 6 <XS^y J? o 



ST.jWGUSTINE 
FLA. 
32084 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



